


Journey of a Butterfly 2: Black as the Raven

by L8Bleumr



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L8Bleumr/pseuds/L8Bleumr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow Terrwyn and Feredir as they continue the journey and discover who they really are and where they come from. This story will probably make better sense if you've read the first story, but all are welcome whether you've read it or not. PLEASE leave a review as it is an author's only form of payment. We ALL appreciate it very, very much. Thanks for reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Healing House

**Author's Note:**

> *Please note that this story is mainly OFC/OMC oriented as it was in the first installment. LotR characters may appear from time to time, but none are main characters. Set in Ithilien, Fourth Age, and continues where it left off in Journey of a Butterfly. All the regulars appear: Terrywn, Feredir, Horphen, Orthorien, Glandur, Antien, and many others. I hope you will give this story a chance. Remember, there were more elves in Middle-earth than just Legolas ;)

An elvish Ithilien soldier made his way slowly to the Healing House. His battle mate had offered to come with him, but he refused saying the wound was nothing more than a scratch, but it needed to be properly cleaned and checked for poison. He knew this was not the case. He had seen men wounded in that fashion, and he knew this was nothing like the usual burn of such a harmful infection. He had been careless during the latest battle with a group of Haradrim. The elvish soldier knew better than to take his eyes off his enemy to check on his partner, but he thought there had been trouble. The distraction was just enough to give the Harad man an opportunity to swing his weapon, striking the soldier across his upper arm, tearing through the black sleeve of his uniform and cutting into his bicep. It had been a mistake for sure, but not all was in vain. The wound was deep, but it would also represent the elf’s first battle scar, something all soldiers prided themselves on. Now maybe his fellow soldiers would stop teasing him about his ‘virgin flesh’. He swore that if he didn’t get wounded soon, he would do it himself just to end the ridicule.

He opened the door to the Healing House and looked around. There was an elderly gentleman holding his head in his hands looking quite distraught. The soldier wondered if he was here with his own ailments or waiting for word of another. The old man glanced up at the elf, who in turn nodded and bowed slightly to show his respect. The man nodded without a smile, clearly in some sort of pain. Other than that, the room was empty and the elf took a seat to wait his turn.

It seemed that he was the first of the wounded to arrive, but soon there would be more soldiers. The battle was at its height when he left, by orders of his Captain. He could have kept fighting, but he had been careless, and in the line of sight of his Captain. The elvish soldier was reprimanded … again. This was his last warning, the Captain had said. His punishment had been his orders to leave mid-battle, before—as his Captain put it—he lost more than just his pride. At least he received his wound first, the soldier smiled to himself.

He glanced down at the temporary bandage wrapped around his upper arm. Blood was seeping to the surface, but it was not bad. All wounds bled, and this one seemed to be minimal, though it was beginning to burn just a bit. He hoped it was not poison, he thought as he second guessed himself.

The door to the examining room opened, and a lovely elleth came out holding a small pouch in her slender hands. She sat down next to the elderly man, and gave him instructions on how to use the herbs in the pouch. He nodded and thanked her, patting her arm. The blond elleth placed her hand over his and smiled warmly, reassuring him that all would be well. Then she helped him up from his chair and to the front door of the office. She asked him if he was alright to walk home by himself, and the man nodded, smiling for the first time. He hobbled out the door with his little pouch, and the elleth closed the door after watching him for a little while.

She smiled to herself. Obviously, the elderly patient was known to her, as she showed her concern. Then she looked to the new patient, the smile still upon her lips, “Well now, what do we have here, an injured soldier?”

“Yes, my lady, I was cut on the arm by the blade of a Haradrim sword. The wound is not deep, but I wanted to have it checked for poison,” he answered.

She went to the patient room door and opened it for him, “Come along then, and let’s see what we’ll find beneath that bandage.” As he passed by her, she asked his name.

“Halion, my lady,” he answered respectfully.

“Well, Halion, follow me and I’ll put you in the examination room. I’ll let the Mistress Healer know you are here.” She smiled kindly at the young soldier, and then led him down the hall.

“May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?” he asked, as they walked.

“I’m Rhawen, assistant to the Mistress.”

Halion smiled slyly, “That is a lovely name for one as beautiful as you.”

Rhawen glanced over her shoulder, “Hmm, maybe that wound is poisoned after all, or are you naturally this bold with all the ladies?”

“Only with those that I find so appealing,” Halion answered.

Rhawen smiled and seemed to blush slightly. She ignored his last comment, and pushed open the door to the examining room, “Sit here and I will be back to check your arm.”

Halion nodded and watched her leave, then he checked his surroundings. The room was in pristine order with chairs and a few beds arranged in a row along one wall. Opposite of where he sat were shelves with jars and bottles, boxes and pouches of all different shapes and colors. Most of them seemed to be filled with dried leaves or powders. A few of the bottles held oddly colored liquids. Halion got up and went to the shelves to examine them more closely. He knew nothing about healing herbs, and he wondered what all of the different things were used for. As he walked along examining the bigger jars filled with roots or twigs, he suddenly stopped and gasped when one of the jars seemed to be looking back at him. Halion narrowed his eyes, and leaned closer as many sets of eyes gazed absently through a murky yellowish liquid. He reached out and tapped the glass jar. Whatever was in there did not move or blink.

“Marsh frogs,” someone said, and Halion jumped back from the shelf, spinning around and reaching for his sword. Feeling an empty scabbard, he remembered leaving his weapon with his battle mate. He fumbled a moment, embarrassed. “Apologies, my lady,” he said when he saw the Mistress Healer smiling at him.

“Quite alright, it’s a warrior’s instincts to reach for his weapon,” she replied.

Feeling his face burn red, he turned back to the strange jars on the shelf. “Marsh frogs, you say?” he asked curiously.

“They are poisonous you know, but their poison is very useful as a numbing solution when it is properly mixed with certain herbs,” she said, as she approached the soldier. She immediately reached for his bandaged arm. “I believe this is more than a mere scratch,” she said, noticing the blood seeping through the gauze. Then she stood back and smiled. “My name is Terrwyn, the Mistress Healer of this House.”

“Mistress Terrwyn, I’m Halion,” he said with a bow of his head. “I have heard many great things about you. Some of my troops have been treated here, and say nothing but kind words.”

“Well, that is good to know,” she answered as she led him back to his seat. “And Terrwyn will be fine. It is my name after all, and I will have you call me as thus. No ‘Lady’, no ‘Mistress’, just Terrwyn.”

“As you wish,” Halion smiled.

Rhawen came back into the room then, and Halion’s eyes went straight to the elleth. Terrwyn took notice right away. “Rhawen, would you undress the wound, and give your analysis of the situation?”

“Of course, Terrwyn,” she smiled, and took the soldier’s arm, carefully unraveling the soiled bandage.

Terrwyn watched not only her assistant, but Halion as well. It seemed the bandage was not the only thing being undressed, as the soldier examined Rhawen from head to toe, stopping briefly at her cleavage and hips. He was a rather handsome, yet young elf, with dark brown hair midway down his back, and an interesting shade of brown eyes rimmed in gold. Many soldiers took notice of Rhawen when they came to the healing house, and for good reason. She was very lovely, with her golden hair the color of wheat, and her bright blue eyes, slim figure and tall just like the rest of her elvish kin. She always had a smile upon her pink lips, and kindness in her eyes.

Terrwyn first met Rhawen at her wedding, where she had been a wine servant. Rhawen had been working in the kitchens in her spare time, but she longed to learn the art of healing. When Terrwyn and her husband, Feredir, left Eryn Lasgalen to return to Ithilien, a small group of wood elves joined them. Rhawen had been one of them. She was young for an elf, determined and independent, willing to do anything to follow her dreams of becoming a healer. It was an easy decision for Rhawen to leave the comforts of her home, and start over in the new city of Ithilien.

With the bandage completely removed, Rhawen could clearly see the slice in Halion’s arm. It had been a clean cut through the flesh, but the muscle was not damaged. Blood pooled in the incision, and she held a rag over it before it ran down his arm, “It bleeds freely,” she told Terrwyn. “And the edges seem clean, not bubbled and grey.”

“What does that mean?” Halion asked worriedly.

“It means there was no poison on the blade that struck you.” Rhawen smiled and eased the soldier’s mind. “Just some stitches, and you will be as good as new.”

Halion smiled but only partly, and Terrwyn knew why. “Is this your first battle wound?”

“Yes, my lady,” he answered, forgetting to call her by her name. “I took my eyes off the enemy for just a moment and … well . . .”

“You are lucky you were not struck any higher, or it might have been your head that you lost.”

“I was told that several times by my ranking officer,” Halion replied disappointedly. “He was not at all pleased with my performance.”

Terrwyn laughed. “They never are it seems, but they are hard on you for a reason.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I will let Rhawen prep the wound while I get my instruments ready.”

Rhawen stepped forward with a bottle containing a clear liquid, and a clean white rag. “This may sting a little, but it will clean out the wound.” She placed the rag at the bottom of the slice and poured some of the liquid into the open flesh. Halion hissed and sucked air between his clenched teeth. The wound instantly began to bubble.

“Is it supposed to do that?” he asked.

“If it didn’t I would be worried, but this is exactly what it’s supposed to do,” she answered. After a moment, she covered the injury with another rag. “Hold that there for a moment,” she told him. He put his hand over the rag, brushing her hand as he did. Their eyes connected for a moment, but Rhawen turned away immediately, and went to the shelf. She retrieved a jar of creamy salve, and returned to her patient.

“What is that for?” Halion asked curiously.

“It is a numbing solution,” she answered, as she took off the lid, and placed it on a table next to her. With another small rag, she dipped it into the jar and turned back to the soldier.

“Numbing solution … m-made from the marsh frogs?” he asked nervously, as he nodded towards the large jar on the shelf in front of him.

Rhawen nodded and dabbed the salved over the cut flesh. Halion watched as she carefully and skillfully applied the medicine. He smiled and looked up at her through his long dark lashes. “I will not crave flies after this, will I?” he jested.

“I don’t think so,” she replied, playing along. “But I would stay away from the marshes for a while if I were you … just in case.”

Rhawen finished applying the salve, returned the lid to the jar, and then placed it back in its proper place on the shelf. When she turned back to Halion, he was watching her longingly. It was not the first time she had seen that look from a soldier, and she was sure it would not be the last. She could not help but notice how handsome he was, but—

“I hope you do not think I am being too forward, my lady, but since it seems I will be relieved of my duties for a while, I was wondering if you might like to join me for a stroll through the gardens,” he asked most politely.

Rhawen smiled, but kept her eyes turned down, “That is a very nice offer and I’m sure you are splendid company, Halion, but I am already spoken for.”

Terrwyn had been at the back of the room with her back turned, but she listened to their conversation, and was surprised by Rhawen’s response. She had heard her assistant turn down many offers, but never had she given a reason before. Terrwyn glanced over her shoulder, and watched Halion’s shoulders slump slightly as his hopes of seeing the elleth again were deflated. It did not last long, and within the same breath, the soldier sat up straight again.

“He is a very lucky ellon then,” Halion responded and said no more. Then he looked at his arm and moved it around. “That frog stuff really works. I don’t feel a thing.”

“Good,” Terrwyn answered as she approached the soldier. “Now, we have to stitch it up so it will not get infected and will heal properly.” In her hand, she held a rather long curved intimidating needle with string attached.

Halion’s eyes went wide. “You’re going to stitch me up … with that?”

“Oh, you won’t feel a thing,” Rhawen answered. “Remember the numbing solution?”

Halion nodded slowly, but never looked away from the needle.

Terrwyn could see that he was not going to help make any of this easy, so she decided to distract him first. “Now tell me, Halion, were there other injured or just yourself?”

“Oh, I’m sure more will come along shortly. There was a scuffle with a group of Haradrim, and you know how those go,” he answered, seeming to calm a bit. “I imagine you will have some of the captives in your office along with Ithilien soldiers. I witnessed a few as I made my way here, tied up for questioning. They didn’t look too bad off, but they were battered none the less.”

Terrwyn took the opportunity to start the stitching while Halion was distracted with his accounts of the battle. Unfortunately, as he spoke, he kept a sharp eye on Terrwyn, and he tensed as she was about to begin. “Wait, are you doing that now?”

“I promise you will not feel a thing, but I suggest that you do not watch,” Terrwyn said as she stood next to the soldier. “Needles tend to make some people—”

She didn’t finish her sentence before Halion’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he slumped back in his chair, fainting as his mind conjured up the idea of the needle being inserted into his flesh. Rhawen laughed as Terrwyn rolled her eyes and started the stitching.

“Why is it the hardest, toughest warriors are the ones that faint at the sight of the smallest object?” Rhawen giggled.

“I’ve often laughed at the thought of an army of healers ending a war just by holding up their needles. One look and they would all fall flat on the ground. Who needs swords?” Terrwyn laughed.

She made the first few stitches, and then handed the needle to Rhawen. “Let’s see what you can do?”

Rhawen looked nervously at the needle. “But I have only practiced on pig flesh, never a real patient.”

“Then it’s time you did.” Terrwyn stepped back and watched Rhawen as she hesitated. “Don’t worry about being neat. He will want the scar this time,” she chortled.

Rhawen gave Terrwyn a peculiar glance. “What?”

“The new soldiers, they look forward to their first scars. It’s considered a right-of-passage. I don’t understand it, but it is important to them,” Terrwyn explained.

Rhawen took a deep breath and started her work. Her hand was a little shaky at first, but soon she calmed and found that peaceful place that every healer goes to when concentrating on a patient.

After a few minutes, Terrwyn continued with conversation. “So, you are spoken for, are you?”

Startled from her healer’s trance, Rhawen paused and looked up. “What?”

“You told Halion you were involved with someone,” Terrwyn went on. “I thought he was hopeless and you never wanted to see him again, unless you speak of someone new.” The ‘he’ in question was a warrior named Horphen whom Rhawen had met at Terrwyn’s wedding. Horphen was the best friend of her husband, Feredir, very sweet but not ready to tie himself down to just one elleth. Rhawen had tried to capture his heart many times since coming to Ithilien, but Horphen would not allow it, and Rhawen would not become one of those desperate ellith that made a nuisance of themselves. That would only drive the ellon away. Instead, she backed away, and left him alone to let him figure things out for himself.

“I stopped paying him any attention, and I don’t think he liked that very much,” Rhawen said. “He called upon me several times with well thought out letters, and I did not return his messages. If he wants to speak to me, he must do it in person. I have known men like him. They want their sweet rolls handed to them on a mithril platter, so to say. Well, I worked the kitchens long enough to know that I would cater to no ellon who would not fetch for himself. I am not his servant just as he is not my savior. I want someone who views us as equals.” Rhawen smiled, and was suddenly surprised to see she was doing a fine job of stitching up the soldier while holding a conversation. “This is easier than I thought,” she commented, as she put in the final stitch, knotted it, and snipped the thread. She placed the bloody needle on a cloth on the table.

Terrwyn examined the elleth’s handiwork. “Very well done for your first time on a living patient.” She handed her a bandage. “Just a light wrapping.”

Rhawen nodded and took the bandage, carefully wrapping it around Halion’s arm. The soldier was just starting to mumble as he came out of his faint induced sleep. The women ignored him for a moment while he came around.

“So what made you give Horphen a second chance?” Terrwyn asked, getting back to the subject.

Rhawen smiled as she finished her work. “He called upon me again, this time in person … with a basket of sweet rolls,” she laughed. “We are meeting for dinner next week … at my home … just the two of us.”

Terrwyn crossed her arms and smiled mischievously. “Should I expect you to come in late the next day then?”

Rhawen gave Terrwyn a sly look. “Will it go against my perfect attendance record?”

“Not as long as you give me details,” Terrwyn answered, and both women broke out into a fit of laughter. It was short lived though, as voices floated from the waiting area. Both women glanced to the door.

“The other soldiers are here,” Rhawen mentioned. Then there were the voices of the harsher language of Harad, the injured prisoners Halion spoke of.

Terrwyn looked slightly worried. “I should separate them before there is trouble.”

Just then, Halion started to wake. “Is it over with?” he mumbled.

“Good as new,” Rhawen smiled. She turned to Terrwyn. “I’ll usher the Haradrim to the patient rooms.”

“Good, and ask Tharon to keep an eye on the waiting area. We do not need a battle to break out in the healing house.”

Halion sat up and looked at his arm, thankful that it was already bandaged. If he never saw a needle again, it would be too soon. Then he turned to Terrwyn, looking up at her with questioning eyes. “Will it leave a scar do you think?”

“I believe there will be a reminder of your first battle wound,” she reassured him and he smiled.

Just then, the back door to the examining room burst open, making everyone jump at the unexpected commotion. Halion’s instincts had him reaching for an invisible sword once more, but he winced as he moved his injured arm. Terrwyn was about to yell at whomever was entering her workplace without coming through the front entrance, but stopped when she saw who it was. A small elfling boy had come running in holding a child size bow in one hand and a large brown rabbit in the other. The rabbit hung limp as the boy raised his arm in the air. The look on his face was pure excitement. The look on Terrwyn’s face was full of surprise and joy.

“Nana, look!” he exclaimed. “My first kill!”

Terrwyn got down on her knees and clasped her hands together. “You caught it all by yourself?”

The auburn haired elfling stood straight and proud. “I did, Nana. I saw him through the bushes and followed him. Ada told me when to shoot and I did. Just one arrow too. I killed it on my first shot.”

At that moment, Feredir, Terrwyn’s husband came through the door, a wide smile upon his handsome face, his long black hair looking a wild mess. Terrwyn took a brief second to notice how much their son, even at the age of seven, was beginning to look like his father. He would be a handsome man someday, but that day was still far off, thank goodness.

The moment passed, and Terrwyn stood back up on her feet, eyes narrowing as she regarded her husband, but speaking to her son, Norion. “And just how were you able to kill a rabbit with blunt tips?”

“Ada took them off, and replaced them with real tips,” the boys said excitedly.

“Did he now?” Terrwyn said with a cold stare trained on Feredir.

He had already known this would be an issue, and he was prepared to defend his decision, which he was about to do when Halion jumped up from his chair and assumed a straight stance, hand over heart and bowing his head, “Captain Feredir,” he addressed properly.

“As you were soldier,” Feredir said, relieving him. It was the perfect diversion. He looked at his wife once more, but the look on her face had not faltered. Then he brought his attention back to the injured elf. “What happened to your arm?”

“I caught the blade of a Haradrim sword … uh … but there was no poison, only a flesh wound,” Halion answered.

Rhawen had returned to the examining room just in time to hear his answer, and rolled her eyes. “A flesh wound that took twenty one stitches.”

Feredir raised his eyebrows looking impressed. “Twenty one? That is quite a nice battle scar then. Your first one I presume.” The Captain of the Ithilien Guard could see that Halion was young, and this was probably his first campaign at the borders.

Halion nodded. “Yes Captain, but I assure you I will not be getting another one any time soon.”

The shouts from the waiting area were increasing in volume and everyone turned to listen. Rhawen twisted her hands together nervously. “I managed to lead the prisoners to the patient rooms, but some of the Ithilien soldiers insisted on standing guard at their doors. The Haradrim took offence to that, saying that a place of healing was considered even territory, and they started arguing again.”

“I can hear that,” Terrwyn answered, becoming irritated by the noise. “And where is Tharon?”

“He is trying to mediate the situation, since he is the only one fluent in their language, the Harad men, that is,” Rhawen answered.

“I can speak with them if you would like,” Feredir offered. He too spoke enough of the desert dwellers tongue to communicate.

“No, no,” Terrwyn said quickly, “This is not your place here, Feredir. I am the head healer, and I will handle it.”

There was a thump, and the sound of empty bottles clanking together. Everyone turned to see Norion flinging the dead rabbit carelessly onto the workbench. Terrwyn ran to him. “Not there, Norion, that area is sterile,” she complained, but she could not be mad at him. He was so proud of his catch, and she would not ruin his winning moment.

“I’m sorry, Nana,” Norion said softly.

Terrwyn lifted the rabbit and held it up, measuring its weight. Her son looked up and watched his mother. “I must admit, this is one of the largest rabbits I have seen in a long time.” She handed it back to him. “What shall we do with it then?”

Norion shrugged his shoulders. “We could have it cooked into a stew.”

“That will make a lot of food. Perhaps we should invite some of our friends and have a celebration,” Terrwyn suggested.

“Can we ask Uncle Horphen to come?” Norion asked eagerly, “And Rhawen … and Antien and Commander Glandur … oh … and Curuven and Limil too?”

Feredir stepped forward coming to stand behind his son and laughed. “I think you have invited all of Ithilien.”

“Looking at this catch, there will be enough stew to feed all of Ithilien,” Terrwyn chimed in. She handed the rabbit back to her son. “Why don’t you run upstairs, find Limil and politely ask if she will prepare it.”

“Yes, Nana,” Norion answered with a big smile, as he ran through the door and towards the stairs that led to the apartment above the Healing House.

Terrwyn looked up at Feredir, eyes narrowing instantly. “And don’t think I’m letting you off so easily.” She turned to Rhawen. “Can you finish up with the patient?”

“Of course,” Rhawen nodded.

Terrwyn exited through the back door and Feredir followed her. Once they were alone in the workroom area, she spun towards him, and poked her finger into his chest. “And just what did you think you were doing by giving Norion real arrows? I thought we had agreed; blunts only until he is ten. You yourself said that his coordination would not be very well developed until then.”

Feredir did what he did best and smiled irresistibly. “You have not been hunting with him, and seen his development. He is ahead of his years. He has a concentration that I have not seen in someone so young. I wish you could have seen his face when he spotted the rabbit. His silver eyes were like darts trained on the target. And his hands, though so small, were as steady as a rock. I knew it was time, and I removed the blunt just this once, and look how proud he is now.” Feredir’s own face beamed with fatherly pride, but Terrwyn still looked cynical. His features softened, as they only did for his wife. “Do you not trust me, Naru? I would never put our son in danger.”

Terrwyn still glared at her husband. “I know you would do no such thing, but we had agreed upon this already. When we talk about what you are teaching him, I feel as though I am a bit involved, and my mind is assured. I regret not being there for every milestone.”

Feredir’s hands rested on her hips, and he pulled her to him, holding her close. “You are there, Terrwyn, maybe not in body, but in spirit. With every accomplishment, he says he cannot wait to tell you. And when he caught that rabbit,” Feredir paused to chuckle as he remembered, “there was no time to spare. He could not wait another moment to get back here and show you.”

“He did?” she said, her eyes pooling with tears.

At that exact moment, there was a muffled cry from the waiting area. Terrwyn bit back her emotions, and was instantly the Mistress Healer once more. She pushed through the door of the examining room and found Halion fumbling for an invisible sword again, Rhawen with her hands covering her mouth in surprise, and Tharon pinching his nose, which happened to be bleeding profusely.

“What’s happened here?” Terrwyn called out, demanding explanation.

Tharon sat on a stool, moaning in pain. Rhawen was already at his side, checking his injured nose. She handed him an unused bandage left over from Halion’s suturing, and he held it to his face. “I did as you said, Mistress Terrwyn. I tried to keep the soldiers calm, but the Haradrim started shouting rude comments. Seems that they do not speak much Westron, but they know all the insults.”

Terrwyn gave an internal sigh. Tharon was just beginning his training in the art of medicine. He was a good listener and tried very hard, but he was not a mediator. She should have known better than to send him to keep a watch out. Tharon was a young elf, with dark brown hair that he kept tied back in a ponytail, tall and very slim. Compared to the Ithilien men, he looked like a sapling amongst a forest of Ents. Still, he had followed her directions, and it cost him a possible broken nose.

“Where are the prisoners now?” Terrwyn asked.

“They are still in the waiting area with the soldiers. There’s five of them as far as I can tell. Their injuries look minor, but they need to be cleaned and bandaged,” Tharon said in a nasally voice.

Feredir stood at the back of the examining room, knuckles cracking as he flexed his fingers. If he had been anywhere else, he would have already been out the door and establishing order. These were his men, after all. However, this was Terrwyn’s territory, and she had told him as much on countless occasions. He knew better than to cross his half-elvish, half Rohirric wife. She had the patience of the elves, and the feistiness of the Rohirrim. More often than naught, she was a daughter of Rohan, and her personality was as fiery as her red hair.

“Perhaps I can calm them,” Rhawen said after she finished examining Tharon. A piece of his brown hair had come loose from the thong in his hair, and she pushed it behind his ear. “It will be sore and possibly bruised, but it’s not broken,” she told him.

“She should not—” Feredir started to say, but Terrwyn held her hand up to stop him.

“It is alright, Hervenn,” Terrwyn said lovingly, but with a touch of aggravation … just a warning. Then she smiled at Rhawen. “I will see to the disturbance. You stay with Tharon and see that the blood stops.”

Without any more argument, Terrwyn left through the examining room door, down a short hall and exited into the waiting area. What she found was a room full of Ithilien soldiers yelling and waving fists to a group of Harad men, who were yelling back in their own language.

“Stop!” she yelled, “Stop this instant! You are in a house of healing. This is neutral ground!” But her shouts went unnoticed.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers called one of the Harad men a wicked name, and accused him of doing unthinkable things to his own sister. The Harad man’s face turned a shade of red that Terrwyn hadn’t known existed, and he hocked and spit in the Ithilien soldier’s face. There was a single moment when time seemed to stop and a hush covered the waiting area, as everyone waited to see what would happen next. Then the soldier said calmly, “You dirty orc-fucking bastard!”

Time started back up as the soldier lurched at the Harad man and a brawl broke out. There was nothing Terrwyn could say to stop the madness. It was already out of control, and unless she wanted to join Tharon with a bloody nose of her own, she had to regain order. She glanced around the room, looking for something to use to get their attention. There was nothing but chairs and a table at one end. Half of the chairs were in use by the unarmed soldiers, raised above their heads as they threatened to beat the Harad prisoners with them.

Terrwyn turned back to the door that led to the examining room and at that very moment, Feredir stepped out, a look of shock on his face as he absorbed all that was happening. In an instant, she marched over to where he stood, her eye trained on the hilt of his sword safely sheathed at his side. Before he could speak, she grabbed it and pulled it free. He started to protest, but she glared at him with murderous eyes, and he bit his tongue.

With sword in hand, Terrwyn leapt atop the table with elf-like grace, and held the sword up, flashing silver in the sun that beamed through the window behind her, “You will stop this now!” she shouted.

Her voice captured the attention of a few of the men close enough to hear. They immediately stopped and watched with amazement as the Mistress Healer stood on the table and commanded order. Terrwyn could see that the prisoners had moved, or had been corralled across the room against the wall on the far side. The Harad men were pinned to the wall by their throats as the soldiers were on the verge of strangling them.

“I said enough!” Terrwyn shouted again, and the crowd slowly came to order. The last to notice the Mistress Healer was the man who initialized the brawl. The one who was spit on was doing a thorough job of choking the life out of the Harad prisoner who had done the spitting. Caught up in the bloodlust of holding another being in the balance of life and death, the Ithilien man did not hear Terrwyn. Another second, and the prisoner would be past saving. With only one thing left to do, Terrwyn hiked her skirt up her leg, exposing the ivory flesh of her thigh. The men watched … their eyes trained on her bared leg. A few mumbled and some groaned. They had obviously been away on duty, and deprived of female companionship for some time. She retrieved a throwing knife from a garter that she always wore, lowered her skirt and took aim. As the knife left her hand, there was a whispered gasp across the room from the soldiers watching the show, and then a nice hearty thwack as the blade sliced through the Ithilien soldier’s sleeve, pinning his arm to the wall. He instantly released the Harad prisoner, who coughed, and reached for his reddened throat.

Terrwyn held Feredir’s sword up again for all to see. “Now that I have your attention, I would ask that you all take a seat and quietly wait your turn,” she paused and glared sharply at the Ithilien man pinned to the wall, “or next time I will not miss.”

She jumped down from the table, went to Feredir and handed him his sword. “I won’t be needing this anymore,” she said, and for one of the very few times since they met, Feredir was speechless. Watching Terrwyn assume authority and handle his weapon made something deep within stir to life, but that would have to wait.

The crowd in the waiting area parted as Terrwyn made her way to the other side where the prisoners stood against the wall. Feredir sheathed his sword and followed her, regaining control of his emotions quickly.

“That was a very dangerous thing you did, Hervess,” he said in a scolding whisper from behind.

“This is a place of healing, and this sort of barbaric behavior will not be tolerated.” Terrwyn was still a bit charged from all the excitement, and she said this loud enough for the surrounding men to hear. “Leave the fighting on the battle field.”

No one got in her way as she approached the prisoners. One look at them told her just how scared they had been during this ordeal. She didn’t know what these men had done, but it hadn’t been as bad as killing, for them to be allowed treatment within the city. These men did not seem the soldiering type, she thought oddly.

She looked them over hastily. There were cuts, scratches, bruises and a black eye or two, but they seemed to be in one piece. “Feredir, tell them they will come with me for treatment.”

He relayed the message in their foreign tongue and the men nodded in agreement. Then Terrwyn led them to the examining room. Along the way, Feredir gestured to the two guards that originally brought the prisoners, to come with them and keep watch as they were treated for their injuries.

“Is everything alright?” Rhawen asked when Terrwyn returned with five Harad men in tow.

“Order has been restored,” she smiled for appearances sake. “Now, we have work to do. Let’s start with these men so we can send them to the prison house where they’ll be out of the population.”

Terrwyn, Rhawen and Tharon worked diligently under the watchful eyes of Feredir and his men. Terrwyn stole a glance at her husband, who took up residence in his usual spot, a table in one corner of the room. There was no doubt, from the stern look in his silver eyes, that he would have a thing or two to say about her sudden bravery. He did not look pleased, but what else could she have done? It was just a matter of time before he would confront her, though not while she worked. But once the prisoners were on their way, she could be assured Feredir would want to speak his mind, and they would have an argument. At least she would have some time to get her thoughts together while she bandaged the Harad men. She had already decided that she would not back down in this matter. Terrwyn was a strong and capable woman. It was her right to protect and bring order to her house.

The last prisoner was taken care of, and Feredir ordered his men to take them back to the interrogation rooms. As the guards led the men away, one of the soldiers, an elvish man fair of face and skin, stopped and bowed his head to Terrwyn. “I apologize, ma’am, for the disturbance in your place of business. We hadn’t known the place would fill so full and so quick with soldiers, otherwise we would have taken the prisoners away sooner, and spared you the annoyance.”

Terrwyn smiled. “Quite alright, there was not much harm done … outside of a few chairs and my new curtains.” She cringed inwardly as she thought of her dear friend, Antien, who so thoughtfully picked them out and hung them for her as a surprise. “Thank you for your help.”

She stopped to consider it all for a moment. It was rare that injured prisoners of war were sent to her. Usually, they were held in the prison and seen by the healer on duty there. She recalled one of the men telling Feredir that Captain Horphen gave them their orders while he interrogated the captured leader. A bargaining tool, she thought. The leader would divulge information in exchange for the fair treatment of his men. She wondered what kind of information the Harad man held for Horphen to agree to the arrangement.

The guards left with the prisoners, and Terrwyn waited for Feredir to go with them. Instead, he stayed seated on his rickety throne in the corner, his eyes burning a hole into her back. Her ire began to boil slightly. What was he waiting for? If he was to have it out with her, better to get it over with so she could work in peace.

She ordered Tharon to send in the first group of Ithilien soldiers, as she and Rhawen prepared and cleaned their work area. Rhawen leaned in and whispered in Terrwyn’s ear with concern. “Did you notice the odd wounds on the prisoner’s backs?”

“I did,” Terrwyn answered. “Those were not fresh. They looked to be a week or so gone. That did not happen here or by our soldiers.”

“They did not seem like Harad soldiers either,” Rhawen mentioned. “They were very scared, unlike what I have seen with other prisoners of war.”

“Terrwyn, a word with you, please,” Feredir said as he stood and went through a door that led to a private workroom at the very back of the healing house.

The dry tone of his voice made her tense and ready for the fight. She abandoned the conversation with Rhawen. “Stubborn man,” she muttered. Just as Terrwyn was half-elf, half-human, so was Feredir, but his human half was Numenorean, and in times when his temper flared, this trait was very prominent.

Terrwyn cleaned her hands, and gave orders to Rhawen and Tharon to begin attending the first of the Ithilien soldiers while she spoke with her husband. She fixed her dress, pulled her hair back and tied it with a ribbon, and then took a deep breath, ready to defend herself against her stubborn husband. She went through the door, closing it behind her so that the others would not hear, and opened her mouth to start the argument. To her surprise, Feredir stepped out of the shadows from behind, grabbed her by the waist, spun her round to face him, and pushed her against the wall.

“Feredir, what—” she said startled, but was cut off when his mouth covered hers. His kiss was hard and fervent, as if his very life depended on the taste of her lips. Terrwyn had prepared herself for a fight, and hadn’t anticipated this. The mixture of anger and lust was making her body ache with a growing fire in her belly. If he didn’t release her soon, she thought she would instantly combust into flames. Unable to resist, she kissed him back, grabbing fistfuls of his thick black hair, and enjoying the sensation of being crushed between the wall and his hardened body. When he let her go, she felt herself swoon from weakened knees. He had truly taken part of her life force to satisfy his sudden need for her soul.

She swayed slightly, but he wrapped an arm about her waist. After she was able to breathe again, she spoke. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know what came over me, Naru, but the sight of you standing above the crowd, my sword in your hand, controlling all those soldiers … by the gods Terrwyn, I wanted to throw you down right then and there, drape you across that table, and have my way with you.”

“You don’t say,” she jested, still a little light-headed from the kiss. “I was only doing what I must to get my healing house back in order.”

Feredir pulled her close and whispered his hot breath into her ear. “I will not be able to concentrate for the rest of the day. That image of you is burned into the backs of my eyelids.”

“Then I suggest you keep your eyes open,” she responded, suddenly feeling drunk on the power she held over him. She felt her resistance was much stronger than his was in that moment. He was as a puppet in her hands, ready to do as she willed.

“I need you now, Terrwyn. My body aches for you,” he begged. 

“But I can’t. I have a waiting room full of men … your men, might I remind you.”

He rested his forehead against hers, and cupped his hands to the sides of her face. “I will give you an hour, and then you are all mine, Naru. I’ll send a carriage.”

“But—” she protested. There was a waiting room full of patients to consider, and not to mention their son, who was upstairs preparing rabbit stew with their family friend, Limil. “I can’t just leave and—”

“One hour.” He leaned down to kiss her, his lips only an inch from hers, but he stopped, closed his eyes and released a long sigh. Then he left through the back door, which led to the herb garden. There was a gate that opened to a stone pathway. From the back of the healing house, his captain’s quarter was within walking distance. That must be where he was going for now.

“No wonder he did not leave by the front door,” she said to herself. The heaviness of his hardened bulge still left a ghostly impression upon her pelvis. He was in no shape to be seen by his men, or anyone for that matter. Terrwyn smiled as she thought about how easy it was to identify an aroused man. It was good to be a woman, she concluded, knowing her own arousal was just as prominent, but secretly hidden. And a good thing too, since she only had an hour to stitch up the men and send them on their way.


	2. Afternoon Rendezvous

“I feel so irresponsible. I’m leaving my work. I’m leaving my son,” Terrwyn mentioned as she and Rhawen cleaned up the examining room. Twenty men had been stitched and bandaged in just an hour. It must have been a record, if such a thing existed. Soon, Feredir would be here to take her home for an afternoon of bliss. “I don’t have to go. When Feredir gets here I can just tell him—”

“Nonsense, you’re only going for a little while, not for months on end,” Rhawen retorted. “You need this time, just you and Feredir. You don’t get many moments like this anymore, so enjoy it while you can. Norion will be just fine. There are plenty of eyes watching him. And if the office gets busy, Curuven is here. He will not mind in the least. As a matter of fact, I think he’d rather enjoy getting his hands smelling of herbs again,” she laughed.

“I know, and I trust that everything will be taken care of. It’s just … this is not me. I don’t push my responsibilities to the side so I can spend an afternoon alone … with my husband … er … you know,” Terrwyn said, blushing.

The examining door opened, and Feredir poked his head in, “Your carriage awaits, my lady.” His silver eyes were dancing with mirth and he smiled contagiously.

Terrwyn looked longingly at her handsome husband, his long black hair cascading over his shoulders, his beautiful face shining with the prospect of what the afternoon held for them. She turned to Rhawen once more, “Are you sure?”

Rhawen couldn’t help but notice how the tables had turned. The Mistress Healer was asking permission from the assistant. She smiled at the thought, and was glad that they shared this kind of closeness, “Go on now. Don’t keep him waiting,” she whispered.

Terrwyn smiled and turned to him. Feredir reached for her hand. As soon as they touched, she abandoned her inhibitions and disappeared through the door, but not before looking back once more. “You will call for me if you need me?” she asked.

Rhawen smiled warmly, “Yes Terrwyn.” She looked past the Mistress Healer to her husband, “Will you take her now before she changes her mind?”

Feredir laughed and pulled Terrwyn by her hand, “Let’s go, Wife, or I will fling you over my shoulder and carry you out.” He slapped her on the behind, making her yelp. And with that, they were on their way.

* * *

Finally, at home and alone, Feredir stood before his wife. His hands went to her waist, and he pulled her against his strapping warrior body. The kiss they shared instantly stirred her blood, and sent it racing to parts that were now awake and wanting. Feredir released her lips and smiled deviously, nodding towards the stairs. He didn’t need to say anything. She knew what was to come, and felt her heart swoon. After all these years, Feredir still made her feel as if she were falling in love for the first time. She wanted him just as badly as she knew he did too, judging by the swell pressing against her hip.

His eyes changed suddenly, from sparkling silver to a stormy lustful grey. He transformed into the youthful Ithilien guard she had first met, no longer the responsible Captain of the Ithilien army. He released his hold on her, and strolled with elvish grace towards the stairs that led to their bedroom. “Are you coming?” he asked seductively, and held his hand out to her. Terrwyn went to him, and let him lead her up the stairs to their bedroom.

“So, does this mean you are not mad at me because of my daring behavior in the Healing House?” She had expected an argument from him after she took his sword, and threatened the lives of a waiting room full of his men.

The question made him arch a brow. He took her hand and placed it on his crotch, pushing himself against her palm, “Does this seem like I am mad?”

She squeezed gently, but just enough to make him suck air in through his teeth, “Oh, you are mad alright … insanely so.”

“I’m mad about you, Naru,” he answered and kissed her sweetly, much different than the demanding kiss they shared in the healing house.

Terrwyn made quick work of his laces, and pushed her hands inside his pants, “Feredir?”

“Hmm,” he moaned, as his mouth was busy sucking on her neck.

“Don’t you feel the slightest bit guilty right now?”

“Guilty for what?” He turned her around, and began unbuttoning the back of her dress.

“For leaving our responsibilities in the hands of others while we are here,” she said, watching her dress fall away and pool at her feet. Feredir’s hand reached around and covered her breasts. The skin of his palms were tough and warm, very warm against her cool skin. He had such beautifully strong hands.

“No,” he answered in short, and turned her around to face him. His eyes slowly roamed her naked body from head to toe. “By the gods, you are so beautiful.”

“But what if something happens while you are not there, something that you could have prevented had you been in your office?” she asked, ignoring his flattery.

“The only responsibility I have right now is to you, to make sure you are properly seduced and left satisfied,” he said, helping her to lie on the bed. Then he finished undressing and lay down on top of her. As hard as he tried, he could see that his ministrations were doing nothing to ease her mind. He had hoped they didn’t have to talk about this, but he could see that she would not give him her full attention until they faced the looming problem.

“It’s Norion isn’t it? You are worried about leaving him.”

Terrwyn turned her head to the side. If she looked into Feredir’s eyes, she might start crying, and she didn’t want to ruin the moment. “I just left him, Feredir. I didn’t even tell him I was leaving. I just walked out without a word. What kind of mother am I not to say goodbye to my child?”

Feredir did not answer right away. This was a tricky discussion. Say the wrong thing, and she would go back to the Healing House quicker than he could blink. He was beginning to miss those days when they were free to do as they pleased, anywhere they pleased, and for as long as they wanted. It had been so easy to seduce her then. Just a look and she was on her knees. Well, he corrected himself, part of the time he had been on his knees first. All in all, it had been such a simpler time then.

“Let’s look at our list of bad motherly decisions, shall we?” he began. “Did you leave him with orcs?”

“No,” she said, giving him a strange look.

“Did you sell him to a band of gypsies?”

“No.”

“Good, good. And did you leave him alone in a dirty shack with no food or water, surrounded by wolves with vultures circling above?”

“Definitely not,” she laughed, feeling more at ease.

“One more question. Did you leave your son in the care of people we know and love, who love Norion as if he were their own?”

“I see your point,” she said rolling her eyes. “Why are you so irritatingly right about everything?”

“Because sometimes I want you all to myself, Naru. You are a wonderful mother and an adoring wife. You are a respected healer and a trustworthy friend. But there are times when I don’t want mother, wife, healer or friend. I want what is at the core of all that. I just want … you.” He ended with a long kiss that left them both swirling with desire, allowing the world to melt around them.

“You have me, Hervenn,” she whispered as he filled her. “You’ve always had that part of me.”

* * *

Terrwyn lay next to Feredir, stretched out alongside him, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder and her palm flat against his muscled chest. She watched how it rose and fell along with his slow breaths. He had fallen asleep after their second round of lovemaking. Now he was beginning to stir as his hand came up, and a finger twirled a long strand of her fiery red hair. She could feel his heartbeat speed up as he came out of his slumber, a good strong loving heart. Feredir was the epitome of both man and elf. He could not claim to be more of one or the other. He was his own person, graceful, protective, kind and sometimes terrifying, especially to his enemies.

She was suddenly struck with a memory, of when she used to sit and watch the way he held their newborn son when he thought she wasn’t looking. Those hands, large and calloused after years of fighting as an elvish warrior, were the same hands that cradled Norion as gentle as a feather. It was a remarkable thing to observe.

She remembered the day their son was born. Up until that time, they hadn’t settled on a name. Terrwyn wanted him to be named for his father, but Feredir insisted he be named after her. “We’ll flip a coin,” she had said. He pulled a gold piece from his pocket and handed it to her. She threw it up in the air, but Feredir caught it and hid it beneath his palm. He peeked at it, and told her she had won, but he would not show her which side was up. And so, instead of being named after his father, he was named for his mother, son of red one. When Norion was a baby his hair was the same color as hers, bright red like molten rock, but as he grew, it turned darker, more like his father until it was a deep auburn red. His eyes were an exact replica of his father’s, stunning silver. Norion was definitely his father’s son, and he took after Feredir in more ways than just looks.

Today, he had made his first kill, though it was just a rabbit. Feredir told Terrwyn about their morning hunt and explained every move Norion made while stalking his prey. His mother was so proud of her little elfling, but she also discovered that he would assume his father’s role one day. She had hoped he might want to be a healer or even pursue some kind of occupation within Ithilien’s court. Hearing Feredir describe their son’s young skills made her realize that he would be like his father.

“He’s going to be a warrior, isn’t he?” she whispered into Feredir’s neck.

“We don’t know that yet, Naru. He’s still practically a baby,” Feredir said to ease her mind. He knew how she felt about that. She would worry about their son if he chose the dangerous life of a soldier, but from what he witnessed today, there were already signs of his future as a warrior. Feredir would want nothing more than to see his son grow into a fine and trustworthy soldier. There was so much he could teach Norion, so many traditions to pass on to him, but he hated to see Terrwyn distressed.

“But the way you described him today, I can see it is his path. Some of what you said is exactly how you behave when you are concentrating on your target. And he adores you, Feredir. He wants to make you proud. He wants to be just like you. He will be a warrior, of this I have no doubt.”

“And you will worry for him whether he is a warrior or a healer,” Feredir commented.

“There are hardly the same dangers for a healer as for a warrior. I worry about not being able to save a patient’s life, not my own.” Terrwyn sat up so that she was resting on her heels, and faced Feredir. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to him. I am half elvish just like you, and I’m afraid I could fade should Norion be taken away from me suddenly.”

“I would do everything in my power not to let that happen. If Norion chooses the life of a warrior, I will be there every step of the way to see to his training.” Feredir sat up and faced Terrwyn, smiling arrogantly. “I did not become Captain of the Ithilien Guard on my good looks alone.”

Terrwyn laughed aloud, forgetting her concerns, and Feredir leaned towards her, capturing her lips in a deep passionate kiss. He released her, and looked lovingly into her green eyes. “Don’t give it another thought, Naru. The day you speak of is still a long time from now. We’ll worry about it then, when the time comes and he chooses.”

“You are always right, my love. I’m just being silly to think about this now.”

“You are being a mother is all, and my mother used to say she worried much more when she only had Orthorien to care for. Once I was born, she said her concerns were not as exaggerated because she knew what to expect.” He kissed her neck, and moved down to her breasts, gazing up at her with his silver eyes. Terrwyn pushed him, and he lay back onto the pillows. Then she straddled his hips, and let her fingers trace the definition of his muscles. She leaned down to kiss him, and he cupped her breasts in his hands. “We could give Norion a little brother or sister, and see if she was right,” he said with an arched brow.

Feredir was very persuasive, and she hoped to have another child someday. “But not now,” she smiled. “I am enjoying having Norion all to myself.” She kissed him, and readjusted herself. “And right now I’m enjoying having you all to myself.” Terrwyn slid down and gave into the feeling of being filled by him.

Feredir moaned deep from within his throat. “I love you so much, Naru.”

“I love you too, Feredir, with all my being,” she answered breathlessly as they set their rhythm and melted into one spirit.

* * *

Terrwyn collapsed upon Feredir’s chest, completely spent of all her energy and breathless. The room felt warm, and a slight sheen of perspiration broke out on their skin. Feredir gathered her hair and pulled it from her neck. Then he ran his finger down her spine, his hand coming to rest at the top of her nicely rounded behind. “You never cease to amaze me, Naru,” he whispered into her ear, and she smiled against his shoulder.

Suddenly, there was a loud and demanding knock on the door downstairs. Terrwyn gasped and sat up instantly. She waited and the knock came again, louder this time. She pushed herself off of Feredir, and he moaned from the sudden withdrawal. Her hand pushed him in the chest, this time in aggravation. “I knew I should not have left. It’s Norion, I just know it. Something’s happened.” She jumped off their bed and reached for her robe, struggling to get the thin material over her moistened skin.

Feredir casually got up and slid into his black pants, and then into his shirt. “I’ll go see who it is. You stay here, or put something less seductive on. I’ll not have my wife greeting visitors in her nightgown, especially that one.”

Terrwyn looked down and realized it was not her robe she hastily put on, but her thin shift that she liked to wear for Feredir. It was quite transparent and the rosy color of her nipples showed through easily. “Where’s my robe?” she said worriedly.

“You weren’t wearing your robe, remember?” Feredir said. He was already dressed and heading out of the bedroom.

Terrwyn stumbled around the room and decided to put her healer gown back on. If it was Norion, or someone bringing their son home, they did not need to see her in her bedclothes, especially in the middle of the day.

As she dressed, she heard a male voice speaking to Feredir in the front room. She strained to listen before joining her husband. There was no sound of Norion. She would have heard him right away. Terrwyn’s motherly instincts were tuned in to the slightest familiar noise their son made. The male voice did not sound like anyone she knew either. Wasting no more time, Terrwyn descended the stairs, and found Feredir speaking with one of Glandur’s messengers. Her heart calmed a bit. It must not be Norion after all, but something had obviously happened, by the look on Feredir’s face.

The messenger glanced around Feredir’s shoulder and saw Terrwyn. He smiled and bowed his head. “Good day, Mistress Healer. Sorry to bother you at your home, but Commander Glandur sent me to deliver a message to the Captain.”

Terrwyn smiled in return. “It’s quite alright,” she said, and was glad she had put on her healer’s robes. Then, looking at Feredir’s messy mane of black hair, she felt herself begin to blush, and wondered what her own hair must look like after spending the midday in bed making love to her husband.

The messenger did not seem to notice, or at least he did not stare for long at their disheveled state. “I heard about the scuffle in the Healing House this morning, and how you took charge of the situation.” He smiled and winked. “Are you sure you would not like to join the ranks with your husband?”

Feredir put his hand across the back of his neck, and turned around to smile at Terrwyn. “Word spreads quickly.”

Terrwyn, not finding it amusing at all, gave her husband a steely glare. “Yes, like the plague.” She walked towards the door, and forced a charming smile. “Is there anything else?” she asked the messenger.

Seeing that he was interrupting something, the messenger shook his head. “Oh, no ma’am.” He stepped backwards until he was standing in the threshold. “As I said, sorry to bother you. Good day.”

Feredir closed the door and hesitated. “I have to go. Glandur sends for me.”

“Why, what is going on?” Terrwyn asked with concern.

Feredir shook his head. “It’s something to do with the Haradrim prisoners that were brought in this morning. Glandur has finished his interrogations and has learned something new, something to do with the recent attacks upon our borders. He asks that I be present with his counselors.” Feredir straightened his shirt, and tucked it into his black pants. Then he picked up his boots and sat on the stairs to put them on.

Terrwyn watched him dress hastily. Glandur was a dear friend of theirs, but he was also Feredir’s commanding officer, and he would make sure he looked appropriate in Glandur’s presence. As he finished dressing, Terrwyn picked up his belt and sword, handing it to him. Feredir smiled, regretting that he had to leave her. As he buckled his belt, Terrwyn adjusted his collar, and tried to smooth down his wild ebony locks. She smiled and laughed. “You look as though you just had sex with your wife.”

“I did just have sex with my wife, amazing, earth-shattering sex,” he answered as he pulled her to him and kissed her. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Duty calls, Captain,” she jested. “Besides, we’ve been away long enough. Time to get back to the real world.”

“It was nice though, wasn’t it?” he whispered.

“Earth-shattering,” she answered, and kissed him once more before he left.

* * *

Feredir arrived at Glandur’s office, and found him quietly whispering with two of his counselors. As Feredir entered, they all sat up, and turned their heads towards the Captain. Glandur smiled warmly and stood. Feredir bowed his head, “You called for me Commander?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your day, Feredir, but I have some information that I think you would like to hear,” Glandur said. “As you know, I separated the Haradrim men from their leader, or at least, the man acting as their leader. I haven’t approached him yet, but his men decided to talk, and they have given us a name. You will know of a Southron called Sufyan?” Glandur asked, and waited for Feredir’s response.

Feredir turned the name over in his head many times until it stuck, “I do. He was one of the clan leaders in Rhûn.” In fact, Terrwyn’s brother, Hathmund, who had been abducted in his youth, was sent to Rhûn and sold into slavery. Sufyan was one of his owners, and Feredir knew the name well, when he went to Rhûn to free her brother.

“There are many small fighting clans who attack the borders, and keep our soldiers busy. Each one has their own leader, and these men say that Sufyan was in charge of their group,” Glandur said. “This is the fourth group of Southrons who claim Sufyan as their organizer. It sounds as if the smaller groups are converging into a larger army, and that could be a danger to Ithilien if they decide to attack as a whole.”

Feredir shook his head. “This makes no sense. Clan chieftains supply the army with men. They do not organize the troops. They have military leaders to do that. And besides, I have seen Sufyan. He is short and obese, hardly able to take care of himself, let alone lead an army. He made his fortune in trade, and keeps slaves as personal servants. He doesn’t like confrontation, and has others do his business for him. I don’t think he has even left his palace in a decade.”

“I had a hard time believing the prisoner’s story myself,” Glandur said. “But they insisted that the man who gave them their orders went by the name Sufyan, and they confirmed the name of his clan in Rhûn … the same clan that held Hathmund as a slave.”

“Something is not right about their story. Do you want me to question them further?” Feredir asked. He knew how to intimidate his enemies quite well.

Glandur shook his head. “No, I don’t believe there is anything more they could tell us. There is still the other man to confront, and I will do that tomorrow. He is still leery of us, and has not cooperated, but I think that once he learns of his men’s confession, he’ll be more open to discussion.”

“There is something else that concerns me about this particular group of Haradrim,” Feredir said. “I spoke with Horphen earlier, for it was his men who captured them. They were caught hiding amongst the underbrush. Our soldiers thought they were lying in wait, ready to ambush our troops and they were flushed out. What’s odd is that these men did not fight back or try an escape.” Feredir paused and shook his head as he started pacing the floor. “I have fought against the Haradrim long enough to know that they never surrender. They will fight to the death, they will run, or they will take their own life before they will let themselves be captured. They never turn themselves over like these men did.”

Glandur knotted his brow. “This is very unusual. We should check in with our other companies and see if this kind of behavior has happened with other prisoners.”

“I will look into it right away, Commander,” Feredir responded to his order.

“Perhaps first thing in the morning,” Glandur said, for he knew there was something else more important for his captain to concentrate on today. The Commander went back to his counselors and excused them from the brief meeting. Once they left, and it was just him and Feredir, he relaxed his military persona and spoke more casually. “So, I hear there is a dinner party tonight, and I have been personally invited by Norion,” he smiled graciously.

Feredir’s pride touched his heart at the thought of his son. “Yes, he had his first successful hunt today … a large brown march hare. I must say,” Feredir paused and smiled, “I’ve never been as proud as I was when I watched him focus all his senses in on his prey. Norion already has the makings of a fine soldier.”

“Well, how could he not. Just look at his father,” Glandur jested in a good natured way. “You have come so far since your days as a Mirkwood soldier, and I can understand the gratification it gives you to see this in your son. As you know, I have no children. It just wasn’t meant for me to be a father, but watching you grow and mature into the fine friend, husband and captain that you’ve become has been an honor, and I am so very proud of you, Feredir.”

Feredir felt himself blush, something he almost never did, and he looked to the floor as he tried to hide his emotions. “Of all my leaders and mentors, you have always believed in me, even when I questioned myself and my abilities. You were always there supporting me when I failed, and you gave me quite a few second chances. I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked you for that, but I do now. I am thankful that you are a part of my military life, and glad that you are here to watch my family grow. You helped me and you helped Terrwyn in her time of need, and for that I know not if I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“Just knowing that you appreciate all we’ve been through is enough,” Glandur said sincerely. It was not often that Glandur was so open and honest with his feelings, and it was difficult for him to let down his guard, but Feredir was worth it. “So,” he boasted, changing the subject, “we’ll see you this evening at Curuven’s home.”

“Antien will be joining you, I hope. Terrwyn so dearly loves having him around,” Feredir inquired.

“Of course, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Tonight then.”

Feredir moved to the door and bowed. “Tonight, Commander, and looking forward to it.”


	3. Rabbit Stew

The table was full at dinner that night. The house smelled divine with the lingering scent of thyme, and the guests anxiously awaited their meal. Terrwyn and Feredir sat on one side of the table with a place for their son between them. Curuven was next to Feredir with an empty chair on the opposite side, waiting for his wife to bring the meal and join him. At the far end of the table was Horphen and next to him, Rhawen. And across from Feredir and Terrwyn sat Commander Glandur and his mate, Antien.

Everyone was absorbed in their own conversations, giving Terrwyn a moment to glance around the table and appreciate her friends. It was wonderful to be surrounded by those she loved. She smiled to herself and reminisced as she glanced around the table.

Curuven had been the head healer in Ithilien when she first met him and Limil was his wife. They took Terrwyn in during a very trying time in her life. Falsely accused of a crime and summoned as a prisoner, they saw the truth and supported her until her name was finally cleared. Then they took her in and gave her a home. Curuven saw her potential and began training her as a healer. Terrwyn was a natural and enjoyed her work. Now that she was sufficient enough to manage the Healing House on her own, the elvish couple spent their days enjoying city life and each other. Occasionally, Curuven would help mix medicines or see to a patient who asked for him, but for the most part, he left the doctoring to Terrwyn.

Horphen and Rhawen … now that was a story in itself. Horphen and Feredir grew up together in Eryn Lasgalen, known as Mirkwood at the time. They bonded like brothers and were inseparable, even so much as joining the King’s army and enduring long hours of training together. They were battle mate’s once they officially joined the elvish army and fought against spiders, goblins, orcs and the occasional troll. Any time Feredir needed something, Horphen was there. Even now, they still watched out for each other. And when Terrwyn went through her trial in Rohan, facing the charges brought against her, Horphen was there when Feredir could not be. He was a true friend, and she was very glad of that.

Now that things seemed to be calmer during these new days of peace, Terrwyn wished Horphen would find someone, fall in love and enjoy what she and Feredir had, but he was happy being on his own, no ties to any one elleth … that was until he met Rhawen.

Rhawen lived in Eryn Lasgalen, worked in the kitchens, and in her spare time began learning about medicine. She had first met Horphen while she was on duty working as a wine servant at Feredir and Terrwyn’s wedding. They got along rather well right away and saw each other sparingly for a time. Rhawen realized that she was falling for Horphen and his kind and gentle ways. She had thought he felt the same since they had gotten along so well, but the relationship made no advancement beyond friendship. Sometimes he would go off on his own, and she would not hear from him for days, but when they bumped into each other, the conversation started up right where they left off, as if he’d never been gone.

Eventually, Feredir, Terrwyn, and Horphen left Eryn Lasgalen to return to Ithilien. A small group of wood elves joined them on their journey, deciding to relocate to the newly rebuilt city in Gondor. Rhawen had been among them, convinced by Terrwyn that she could help the elleth in starting a career with medicine. Once settled in the new city, Rhawen began to understand Horphen a little better. He was very much a gentleman, but he was also a flirt. Rhawen knew that he was nowhere near being ready to settle down or even have a meaningful relationship. He was happy being the center of attention with the elf women of Ithilien. Rhawen would not participate in such behavior though, and soon Horphen would seek her out when he just wanted to be himself, not the dashing bachelor that every elleth wished to tame. He was simple and sweet, unconcerned about keeping up appearances. He was … well, he was himself when he was with Rhawen, and even though he made no advances, she was glad for his friendship. She could accept that for the time being, but within her heart, she longed for him to return the feelings she had developed.

A couple years had passed, and during one of their visits Horphen seemed a little distraught. Rhawen asked him to explain. Feredir and Terrwyn had just announced that they were expecting their first child. Horphen was, of course, very happy for his friends, but something struck his heart like a knife, and he wasn’t sure why he felt that way. Horphen went to the only person he trusted with his personal thoughts, Rhawen, and through their discussion he realized that maybe a part of him envied the life that Feredir had made. Up until then, they had done everything together, but becoming a father was something that only Feredir could experience. Rhawen was wonderful and showed Horphen what he feared, not for losing his best friend, but for missing the opportunity to become a father himself one day. 

All the talk of love, marriage and families, coupled with a bottle of heady wine, made the evening take an unexpected turn, and they went a little father than just conversation. Rhawen and Horphen had a beautiful evening together. He had made love to her throughout the night, gentle and giving. He was a wonderful lover, just the kind of ellon Rhawen had always dreamed of. She had hoped that this was the turning point for them, since he had never made such advances towards her, and she opened her heart to him that night, maybe a little too much, for she had admitted to falling in love with him as she fell into reverie.

Horphen panicked though, and when she awoke the next morning, he was gone without a word. She should have been angry, livid even, but she wasn’t. That night together, Rhawen had felt something from Horphen. She had felt the smallest part of his soul, and she knew deep down that he experienced it too, but he was too afraid to admit it. He’s just not ready yet, she told herself. Still, she would not play games. Rhawen would not wait for his heart to come around, nor would she follow him around like the other silly ellith, flaunting and batting long lashes just to gain his attention. She was much too independent and strong willed to sink to such low levels of confidence. And as wonderful as that one night with him had been, she would not give herself to Horphen again either, not until he was ready to commit himself to a relationship. Still, if it never happened again between them, at least she got to spend that one evening with him, and experience something that she was sure no other elleth had. Horphen had a loving heart hidden beneath his fake exterior. He was pretending to be someone that he was not, and until he realized that, she would be nothing more than his friend.

It was for this reason that Terrwyn was shocked to hear Rhawen tell the injured soldier from earlier that morning that she was spoken for. Rhawen had received many offers from the soldiers that came in for treatment, and she had turned most of them down without reason. Today, though, she had admitted that there was someone else, and Rhawen would never have admitted such a thing if something had not happened.

Terrwyn was hopeful that Horphen was finally coming around. He had matured quite a bit since returning to Ithilien, and taking up Feredir’s position as an army captain when her husband was promoted to Captain of the Guard. Perhaps Horphen was finally getting his priorities in order. Perhaps he was finally opening his heart and admitting his true feelings for Rhawen. They did make a lovely couple. They seemed to fit together so well, and were comfortable in each other’s presence. And Rhawen had stood firm and not let anything go farther than friendship between them. Whenever he fell back into his flirting ways, she stepped away. The last time it happened, he almost lost her for good, and it must have been like a slap to his conscience, because something about him changed. Terrwyn didn’t know what transpired between them, but it must have been a breakthrough for Rhawen to agree to a dinner date … with Horphen … alone. How wonderful it would be to see them finally together.

Terrwyn stirred from her thoughts of Horphen and Rhawen, as she felt a light tapping on her foot beneath the dinner table. Terrwyn looked up, and Antien was eyeing her peculiarly. Speaking with their eyes as they often found themselves doing, Antien glanced at the newly reconciled couple then back to Terrwyn with a questioning raise of his eyebrows. Terrwyn shrugged slightly in reply, as if to say she was not sure what was transpiring between them. Antien smiled and winked as if to say yes, their relationship was finally underway.

* * *

Over the years, Antien and Terrwyn developed a very close friendship. He had played a very important part in her life, though she had only begun to know him recently. As a child, she had met him on the steps of the Hornburg during the days of the Ring War. She and her brother were worried about their mother’s health after she had become unresponsive, leaving the children to fend for themselves while taking shelter at the stone fortress. Antien happened upon them, sang to them, told them stories and then gave each child a gift … an elvish dagger for her brother, and a carved wooden butterfly for her. Terrwyn was instantly enthralled with the elf, and never forgot Antien or the kindness of the elves. The butterfly became a symbol of hope and strength, and she kept it with her all the time. It was many years later when she met him again. He had not changed a bit from their first meeting, and though she was an adult, Antien remembered her also. Now that they had settled in Ithilien, Antien and Terrwyn were inseparable, as friends tend to be. Upon discovering that she was part elvish, he took time to teach her certain things that all elves should know, laws, songs, fables and histories. In return, Terrwyn taught Antien about being human and Rohirric, traditions of her people and the stories of the king’s from long ago.

Feredir nudged her knee and pointed towards the kitchen door as it slowly opened. Terrwyn smiled and grabbed everyone’s attention. The guests watched Norion, with Limil’s help, come out carrying a small pot of the delectable rabbit stew. Limil held the door open and waved a hand telling him to proceed. The little elfling walked slowly, one foot in front of the other, never taking his eyes from the heavy pot in his hands. It wobbled this way and that, a bit of stew splashing over the side. Feredir felt Terrwyn tense and ready herself to jump up and help, but he laid a reassuring hand on her thigh.

“Let him do it, Naru. It is his catch and his meal. He won’t drop it, I promise you that,” Feredir whispered to his wife. His soothing voice helped keep her from running to her young son.

There was room between Horphen and Antien where Norion could have placed the pot of stew, but instead, he went to the closest place, which was between Horphen and Rhawen. “Excuse me,” he said politely and the couple moved their chairs apart for the elfling. He struggled to raise the pot, and the bottom caught the edge of the table. Everyone gasped and cringed, prepared to see stew spill out over the table, but at the last second, Norion raised it just enough, and only a small bit spilled. The little elf was a bit out of breath, but he took a step back, straightened his shirt and clasped his hands together just as Limil had taught him. “Dinner is served,” he announced and everyone smiled and clapped.

Norion smiled from ear to ear, and he ran to Terrwyn. She wrapped her arms around him, and whispered in his ear. “You did a wonderful job. I am so proud of you.”

The little elfling stood up straight and turned to his father. “Limil said it was a fine rabbit, one of the best she had ever seen.”

Feredir ruffled his son’s auburn hair. “And I’m sure it will be the tastiest by far.” He helped the boy to his chair.

Limil emerged from the kitchen with a loaf of fresh baked bread and a carafe of wine. Then she sat down next to her husband and started passing the food to the guests. Soon everyone was eating, laughing and enjoying themselves. The stew was gone, the bread broken and shared. Now it was time for the guests to sit back and savor the sweetness of the red wine. The conversations broke into groups. Limil and Curuven discussed medicine with Rhawen while Horphen listened. Actually, he was studying Rhawen, and beginning to understand just how much she knew and understood. He saw how her face lit up as she talked about certain cases of illnesses or wounds. She was very intelligent, much more so than any other elleth he had ever been with. She hadn’t known it, but as he watched her, another little bit of his heart opened to her.

Glandur got up and asked Curuven to exchange seats so that he could sit next to Feredir. “We have a few matters of business to address. If you don’t mind—”

“No, no, of course not Commander,” Curuven said as he relinquished his seat to Glandur.

Terrwyn was sitting across from Antien, smiling as she watched her friend tell stories to Norion. The elfling was sitting on Antien’s lap, his eyes wide as he hung on the edge of every word. Terrwyn couldn’t help but remember the stories Antien had told her and her brother, Hathmund, as children. He made fighting and war sound almost romantic with all of his fanciful words for sword swinging and arrow nocking. The characters in his stories seemed to come to life and play out right in front of her eyes. He was doing the same thing with her son, and her heart melted as she felt everything come full circle.

Horphen must have finally become a little uninterested in the discussion of healing burn wounds. Terrwyn caught sight of him stretching his neck to listen to Antien’s story.

“. . . and then the trolls came,” Antien said quietly and stopped. Norion’s mouth hung agape as he waited for more, but it was Horphen who broke the silence.

“What did you do then?” he asked curiously, and realized he had spoken aloud. Antien, Terrwyn and even Norion turned their attention to Horphen, who seemed to darken to a nice shade of red. He smiled and sat back in his chair, “Oh … well, I … I just wanted to know … in case I should ever come across … some … trolls.”

Antien lowered Norion from his lap, setting the youth’s feet on the ground. “Horphen, would you mind entertaining the boy for a while so that Terrwyn and I might speak privately?”

“Of course not,” Horphen answered quickly, glad for the diversion.

“But what about the army of trolls, Antien?” Norion asked desperately.

“Oh now, that is another story in and of itself. Next time,” Antien answered with a warm smile.

“Come along, Norion,” Horphen interrupted. “Since you have made your first kill, you will have to mark your bow. Have you done that yet, lad?”

“No, I did not know,” Norion said surprised.

“Oh yes, every warrior marks his bow when he’s made a worthy kill,” Horphen guided the boy away from the dinner table as he continued telling him about the tradition.

Terrwyn watched them exit the dining room, her eyes smiling with the same joy she felt in her heart. Antien leaned back against his chair, crossed his arms and watched Terrwyn. She had come so far since he met her on the steps of the Hornburg so many years ago. He sat up, elbows firmly planted on the table, and regarded her with a gleam in his eyes. “So, did you enjoy your little reprieve earlier today? I noticed you were gone for quite some time. I’ve never known you to let Norion stay in someone else’s care for so long.”

Terrwyn slowly turned her head towards Antien, and observed the impish smile on his face. He knew exactly what kind of morning she had, alone with her handsome husband. She crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow. “So, now it is an army of trolls that you so bravely fought by yourself?” she questioned peculiarly. “I seem to remember that the story only had one troll, though he was as tall as a three story building.”

Antien put his fingers to his chin, and rolled he eyes upwards, contemplating. “Just one troll, really? Is that what I told you?”

Terrwyn narrowed her eyes, and held up her index finger as she mouthed the word one across the table.

With his head still cocked up towards the ceiling, as if in deep thought, Antien’s eyes rolled back down and settled on Terrwyn. “Well, it was a long time ago. What’s the difference … one troll or an army, as long as there are trolls in a story, right?”

She could contain a straight face no longer, and burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh Antien, you are such a sprite.”

The dinner guests switched partners as the conversations folded over each other. Antien was now speaking quietly with Rhawen, which caught Terrwyn’s eye. He was a self-renowned matchmaker, he had told her many times, but Terrwyn said he was just meddlesome. She gave him one of her wordless looks telling him to mind his own business. Antien answered with an arrogant smile, as if to say he would do as he pleased. She rolled her eyes just before Master Curuven turned to her, and she quickly gave the healer her undivided attention. Still, she could feel Antien laughing at her because there was nothing she could do to stop him from continuing with his matchmaking efforts.

“You have done a very fine job of running the Healing House,” Curuven commented. “You hardly need my help anymore.”

She thought there was a sense of sadness in his voice, and laid her hand on his arm. “You deserve this time with Limil. I’m beginning to realize what the life of a healer entails. There is hardly a moment to spare sometimes. And I still need you, Curuven, especially when there is a wave of wounded soldiers. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Rhawen is very talented. She helps you a lot during those rushes.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “But I am glad to be there when I can.” His voice took on a slightly more serious tone. “Maybe you should consider hiring another healer’s assistant. Many hands make little work.”

Terrwyn smiled, but drew her brows together. “Rhawen is more than enough help, and as I said, when the healing house is overflowing, you always—”

She was cut off when Norion came flying into the room, calling excitedly. His auburn locks were flowing out behind him as he ran. “Nana … Ada, look what Horphen helped me do!”

Feredir looked up from his discussion with Glandur, and Terrwyn turned from Curuven. Norion came running up to them, standing between them where they sat at the table. He held his small bow in his hands, a replica of his father’s bow, and made by Feredir when Norion was still just a babe in arms.

“What have we here?” Feredir asked as he took the bow and examined it.

Norion smiled proudly and waited for comments while his father pointed to the carving. Terrwyn watched the exchange between father and son. There was no denying their likeness. “Is that a rabbit?” she asked and Norion nodded, but it was his father’s approval he waited for.

“Of course it is a rabbit,” Feredir said, and he gave Terrwyn a wink. Actually, it was difficult to tell what it was, but it was done by Norion’s own hand and that was the important thing. “You have done a fine job today. You have made your first kill, supplied your family with food and carved your first notch. There is not a father in Ithilien prouder than I am.”

“Does this mean I do not need the blunt tips anymore?” Norion asked anxiously.

Terrwyn opened her mouth to protest, but Feredir reached out and laid his hand on her knee. His eyes met hers and they spoke silently. He was asking her for permission, and though she felt it was indeed much too soon, she gave in. The corners of her eyes softened, and a humble but hesitant smile curved her lips. Terrwyn gave her husband a subtle nod of her head, and his eyes turned back to Norion.

“No more blunts.” Feredir barely got the words out before Norion leapt up and down with excitement. “But,” the black haired elf went on, “You must learn the responsibilities of an archer. What you have in your hands now is a deadly weapon, no longer a training tool.”

Norion stopped bouncing and regarded Feredir. “I will be very careful, Ada.”

The seriousness of his tone took Terrwyn by surprise. Norion was so young. He should be playing with his friends, chasing bugs or catching frogs, but here he stood looking so much like his father, wanting nothing more than to make him proud. The boy’s drive was strong. Yes, she thought to herself, he will be a warrior … a great warrior at that. She sighed as she thought about it, and knew that from this day forward she would never stop fretting for him.

Norion darted off to put his weapon away properly. Terrwyn leaned towards Feredir and kissed his cheek. He smiled lovingly at his adored wife. “Feredir,” she cooed. “Our next child will be a healer.” Though she spoke sweetly, he heard the tinge of insistency in her voice.

As Horphen took his seat next to Rhawen after returning with Norion, Limil came back from the kitchen and stood next to Curuven. She smiled, closed her eyes and nodded, which prompted him to stand alongside his wife. The conversations around the table slowly faded to silence as everyone brought their attention to the couple.

Curuven was very tall and lean. There was always the hint of contentment in his blue eyes. He was a master at his occupation, and not just because of his title. People trusted him. Terrwyn had seen Curuven give the same careful attention to his patients, whether it was a scared youth or one of Ithilien’s fiercest soldiers. The only thing that mattered most was the person who needed his care. They became the center of his world if for only a brief moment. Now, instead of patients, it was friends whose attention he held as he and his wife stood looking around the dinner table.

“Well, as you know, Terrwyn has taken over as Mistress Healer, and though I have been hovering around, I’ve come to the realization that she has come into her own.” He stopped to look at Limil, reaching for her hands. Terrwyn saw Curuven differently. He was always in charge and confident, but now he was looking to his wife to help him find the right words to say to his guests. He was hesitant to go on, but Limil’s kind and loving smile helped him remember why he was making this speech in the first place. “Limil and I have made Middle-earth out home for many ages, but we feel it is time to answer the call and sail.”

There was a low rumble, as the guests protested disbelievingly, and Terrwyn was the first one to speak aloud. “No, Curuven, you cannot go now.” She shook her head, and glanced around the room, “But what about the Healing House and your home. And what about … and … and … well, you just can’t!”

Curuven gave her a genuine smile, “And why can’t I?”

Terrwyn was surprised by his response. Did he not know? She raised her hands and gestured to the guests around the table. “Because we still need you, that’s why? Feredir and Commander Glandur speak of trouble growing.” She gave Feredir a troubled look, “And you know Feredir will not stop sending his men to the borders until there is at least a house full of injured elves and men in the waiting room.” Then she snapped her head towards Horphen and gave him bitter glare. “You can be sure that Horphen will be among the wounded.”

“Hey!” Horphen retorted. “I’m not always getting injured.”

“Oh really? And I suppose that was not you who came after the last fight with a sprained ankle. I must have hallucinated the last three scuffles, when you came to me with a gash to your side, a bump on your head that almost split your skull, and a cracked rib. Really, Horphen, it is no wonder that you and Feredir are so close. You both have a tendency to find trouble without escape of injury.” Terrwyn stopped to catch her breath and Antien spoke up.

“Terrwyn, don’t you think you’re over exaggerating?”

She rounded on her friend, “Don’t you start with me also. When the borders are quiet, it is your patrons from the bar that keep my business afloat; brawls breaking out in the middle of the night, and I and Rhawen disturbed from our sleep because someone cheated at a game of darts.” Terrwyn turned her attention back to Curuven, and her eyes switched from punishing shards of emerald to pleading tones of peridot. “And every time, you have been there when things became hectic. Honestly, I do not know what I would do without you.”

Curuven looked around the room with the same unfaltering smile. “Will you all excuse Terrwyn and me for a moment? We have something to discuss.” He looked to Limil and gave her a wink. “Now would be a good time to bless our guests with your talents, my love.”

Limil gave him a befuddled look, and Curuven laughed to himself. It was not often that he caught her off guard, but it was a precious sight when he did. “Your sweet rolls, dear,” he said.

Limil instantly understood and rose from her chair, “Yes … yes, of course, sweet rolls. I almost forgot.” She rushed to the kitchen, the skirts of her white dress chasing her through the door.

Curuven extended his hand to Terrwyn and she accepted. He nodded to the present company, and led Terrwyn out of the dining area and down the hallway. At the end were two doors. One was Terrwyn’s old room, now occupied by Rhawen. The other was Limil’s personal writing room, where Curuven led Terrwyn now. She hadn’t been here for quite a long time, but it still looked the same as it always did. Shelves full of books lined two of the walls. A fireplace, which held a stack of fresh cut wood, centered another wall, and two plush chairs sat on each side of the hearth. Terrwyn could smell the sharpness of the pine and thought of Limil sitting by a comforting fire writing in her journal. Across from the doorway was a window decorated with sheer pale yellow curtains, and an ornate writing desk situated beneath it. Terrwyn remembered seeing the desk for the first time, years before when she first came to live with Curuven and Limil. She had always admired its uniqueness with its legs carved to look like tree trunks, and the inlayed elvish design on the top of the table. Curuven went to the desk, leaving Terrwyn standing by the door. He ran his hand along the smooth top, and traced a finger over one of the unending curves of the inlay, while a smile spread so wide that it touched his eyes.

“Limil’s favorite place to be is right here at this desk. No matter what is happening anywhere else, this is where she is content. This is her place.” Curuven turned back towards Terrwyn. “The healing room is to you, as this desk is to Limil … the place where you belong, where you are yourself, and you are confident.”

“I know, Curuven, and I feel that sense of security and fortitude, but it is because I know you are not far from me that I feel this way.”

“I have nothing to do with that. It is all you, Terrwyn.” Curuven stopped speaking, and went to one of the bookshelves to retrieve a leather-bound book. He opened it and his eyes skimmed over the smooth pages. “Limil writes down all of the stories and facts that she hears. Some of her books are filled with nothing more than scattered words and partial sentences. To me, it is nonsense, but to her they are little visions that she can recall upon for her stories. As soon as she hears something, she is jotting it down. And do you know why she does that?” He paused, but did not wait for a reply before continuing. “She does it because she cannot go back and ask someone what they just said. If she forgets, then those little bits of inspiration are gone. There is no one for her to call upon. She must remember and do it herself.”

“And you are saying I must do the same thing,” Terrwyn said as she contemplated the hidden meaning behind Curuven’s story.

“I am saying that you do not need me anymore. Your knowledge of medicine is vast, and you are learning something new every day. You do this without my help, and you will manage the Healing House without my help also. You did so today, from what the others have said. ”

Terrwyn didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Apparently, word had already spread about the incident with the Ithilien soldiers and the Haradrim prisoners. “Well, I couldn’t very well let a bloody brawl break out in my waiting room, so I simply put a stop to it.”

There was a snicker at the door to the writing room. Terrwyn rolled her eyes, and without turning to look, called out, “How long have you been standing there, Antien?”

The auburn haired elf slid through the doorway, bright hazel eyes dancing in the candlelight. Somehow, he still made Terrwyn’s breath hitch when he appeared. He was beyond handsome; he was magical, and his smile made her heart melt.

“It was more than that, Terrwyn,” Antien said, picking up the story. “You jumped up on the table and waved Feredir’s sword over their heads. You threatened to calm them by castration if they did not listen to what you had to say. I was told it was really quite amazing to see. Every man, friend or foe, was mesmerized by the Rohirric woman with long flowing red hair, flashing her silver sword and threatening their manhood. You earned their respect, and some still fear you.” At this last comment, Antien laughed.

“My point is,” Curuven interrupted. “You took charge at a time when you knew there was no one to help. You have been ready to take over the Healing House for a long time now, Terrwyn. It has not run itself for the past few years, and I have not intervened that often. As I have told you already, you do not need me.”

Antien put his arm around her shoulder, and she let out a sigh. Somehow, she had known this also, but she just didn’t want to admit it. The fact was she would miss Curuven and Limil. They had been so kind to her ever since first meeting them, and they had grown very close. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to strike out at everyone. I think I was just taken by surprise. I did not expect you to make this announcement tonight. Well, it’s not that I didn’t know. I felt a shift in your demeanor, Curuven. I just didn’t think it would be now.”

“I felt the call a very long time ago. Limil has always felt the pull of the sea, but we do love this land. It is why we have lived here for so long, but now, the tides are strong and we must go.” Curuven spread his arms, his white robe opening like a curtain. Terrwyn went to him, and wrapped her arms around his lithe frame. Curuven held her as a father might do for his child, resting his cheek on top of her head. “You are the Master Healer of Ithilien now. You have been for some while. I see such determined strength in you, Terrwyn. You have always had the heart of a healer. From the very first day you stepped through my door, I felt it within you. This is your House now, completely.”

Curuven released her and stepped back, holding her at arm’s length. “But,” he said in a long drawn out tone, “if you are that adamant about an extra pair of skilled hands around here, I could call upon Remlas. I don’t think he would mind coming to Ithilien.”

“Remlas?” said Terrwyn, confused and surprised by the suggestion. “He is the last person that I would expect to come to Ithilien.”

Terrwyn and Feredir had lived in Mirkwood for a while. There, she was introduced to the Master Healer, Remlas, an elf wise with age, but stubborn and set in his ways. After a grueling interview, the old elf healer decided to take Terrwyn on as his apprentice. She learned a lot while under his teachings, and in the end, they had bonded as student and instructor. She had hoped that they could stay in touch through correspondence, but she’d never heard from him after leaving Mirkwood. It wasn’t surprising though. Remlas was a very private person who liked to keep to himself, which was why it came as a shock to hear Curuven mention his name.

“I would dearly love to meet him again,” Terrwyn said. “But I would not want you to call upon him. Besides, Remlas would not be comfortable anywhere except in Eryn Lasgalen.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “No, I am ready to take on Ithilien’s sick and wounded on my own.”

Terrwyn smiled and elbowed Antien, who stood beside her. “And I must admit, it felt good taking charge of that room full of rebellious men. I have not taken up a weapon in a very long time. Perhaps I should practice with my throwing knives again.”

“Seems like a conflict in interest, don’t you think?” Antien chortled. “Warrior and healer? Your waiting room will never be lacking of patients.”

Terrwyn raised a cynical brow. “Your ruffian clientele already keep the room well occupied.”

“I provide the city with a clean and well stocked place where men and women alike can be free of their inhibitions,” Antien argued.

Curuven interrupted Terrwyn and Antien by clearing his throat, and taking hold of her hand. He smiled warmly. “Perhaps we should get back to the others. They’ll be wondering where we have all disappeared to.”

“And I think you better speak with Horphen, my dear,” Antien added. “You were a little harsh on him, and I don’t think he’s used to your outbursts as the rest of us are.”

“I’ll let that little comment slip by me … for now,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the elf. “You are lucky you’re my friend, and that I love you dearly.”

Antien smiled and kissed her cheek. “And I love you too, my fiery little Rohirrim. Now, let’s get going before there are no more sweet rolls left,” he said, and rushed down the hall.


	4. Asylum

Back home in their cozy house, Feredir and Terrwyn sat by the fire. Norion slept with his head on his mother’s lap. Feredir sat on her other side, twirling a strand of her long red hair. Terrwyn never felt so comfortable, so complete, sitting between the two most important men in her life.

“It was a very hectic day,” Feredir mentioned.

“And full of surprises.” She shook her head, “I still cannot believe Curuven and Limil will be leaving soon. They have been a constant in my life. They have always been there.”

“It is difficult to let someone go. I felt the same way when my mother journeyed to the Grey Havens. But there comes a time when, though our loved ones are always near, we need them less and less. Perhaps that is part of the reason why the elves sail. When there are so few people depending on them, their reasons for remaining in Middle-earth diminish, and the call of our distant lands becomes stronger.”

Terrwyn looked down at her sleeping son, his sweet face glowing in the light of the fire. “As long as Norion needs me, I’ll not leave.”

“And I’ll not go without you, Naru,” Feredir said, kissing her cheek.

The boy settled deeper into elvish dreams, and Feredir picked him up. “Time to get to bed, ion nín.”

Terrwyn kissed his small hand and cuddled it to her cheek before allowing Feredir to take him away. Then she smiled at her husband and released Norion to his care. The boy never cracked an eyelid.

“He looks so innocent and sweet when he is asleep,” Terrwyn commented as Feredir walked quietly to the stairs.

While Feredir tucked Norion into bed, Terrwyn took the moment to think about Curuven’s offer to call upon Remlas. Actually, she hadn’t thought of the woodland healer in quite some time. After coming home to Ithilien, she wrote to him twice, and when her letters went unanswered she let it be. Remlas was a very private, very aloof person, and if he didn’t want to correspond he wouldn’t. It did not bother Terrwyn that she did not hear from him. It’s just who he was, and the way he’d always been.

But why would Curuven think Remlas would even entertain the idea of leaving Eryn Lasgalen, a place he hadn’t stepped foot from in many years, to come to Ithilien? If the old healer wanted to come, Terrwyn would be more than happy to have him. He had been her teacher while she lived in the woodland realm. He was stern, tough on her almost every time, and kept a certain distance emotionally from her. Yet, she remembered being surprised when Remlas showed unexpectedly at her binding ceremony, when she and Feredir blessed their union as husband and wife. Caught off guard from her own thoughts, she had found herself feeling a moment of loneliness, wishing her mother was alive to see her that beautiful day. She had also wished her father was there, her human father, the one who raised her, but was not of her blood. Then she began wondering who her real father was. All she knew then, and all she still knew of him, was that he was an elf, and that he’d come across her mother, a woman of Rohan, during a desperate moment in her life. This unknown elf gave her mother the gift of a child. Her mother had taken the risk to save her marriage, and it worked. Terrwyn’s Rohirric father had never known that she was not his child, but that of an elf, making her half elvish.

As Terrwyn wished and wondered that day, Remlas had spoken to her, reassuring her that, had her elvish father been there, he would have been so proud of the woman she’d become, and would have approved of Feredir also. Terrwyn always wondered how Remlas could speak for someone he did not know. Perhaps her real father was a terrible person, and used her mother for his own pleasure. Perhaps he did not care whether Larrwyn became pregnant or not. He did not stay around to find out, as Terrwyn knew that her elf father sailed soon after he met Larrwyn. But somehow, speaking to Remlas had made her feel assured that her father was a good man, that he would have been proud had he still been in Middle-earth, and Terrwyn took comfort in this.

Feredir came back, a glass of wine in each hand, and gave Terrwyn her cup. Then he sat next to her and pulled her against his side. “He’s all tucked away, safe and sound,” he smiled.

Terrwyn sighed and nestled against her warrior husband. They watched the flames dance in the fireplace, the glow of the fire illuminating Feredir’s handsome face. He still took her breath away, just as he had the first time she looked upon him. Tall and sturdily built, Feredir was a prime example of a warrior. He had a mane of long, thick, black hair that he prided himself for, a strong dark brow, high cheekbones, square chin, sultry kissable lips, and eyes of such an intense silver that if she looked at them long enough, she could see the light of the stars within them.

Feredir was half elven too, but unlike Terrwyn, he knew who his father was. He’d only met him once, but it was on a very important day, the day Feredir joined the Mirkwood army under King Thranduil’s rule. Feredir’s father, Callo, had participated in an important ritual, in which he tattooed the shape of a leaf onto Feredir’s shoulder. Every soldier had one, a rite of passage, and one to be very proud of. An unfortunate turn of events led to the destruction of that small gift from Callo, when Feredir was captured by the Southrons and branded by a scoundrel of a man, Abdan. He had given Feredir a slave marking, singeing his skin with a red hot branding iron, erasing the tattoo, his father’s gift. There was nothing on Feredir’s shoulder now, but for an old scar, all signs of a slave brand or a beech leaf permanently gone.

It all seemed like it happened a million years ago, Terrwyn thought. And now here they were, comfortable in their cozy home, sitting in front of the fire, sipping wine while their son slept upstairs. Life was good. Life was normal.

“So, what did Glandur need to speak to you about?” Terrwyn asked.

Feredir looked concerned since talking with the Commander. “He separated the Harad men from their leader after they were brought to him. He interrogated the prisoners first this morning, and found out the name of the man responsible for organizing this particular company of Haradrim.”

“Oh? That was a breakthrough, I’m sure.”

“It was more than that, Naru. We’ve learned that it is a clan chieftain.”

Terrwyn seemed concerned. “A chieftain? But they do not get involved with the army, except maybe by their wealth.”

“Especially this one. His name is Sufyan,” Feredir said carefully.

Terrwyn gasped right away, familiar with the name. “He was Hathmund’s master. He’s one of the wealthiest of the chiefs. What does this all mean?”

“I’m not exactly sure just yet, but something does not sit well with all of this. These men brought in for questioning … they were not the typical warriors that attack. They were found hiding, and when they were captured, they surrendered immediately. They wore all the usual armor and were fully armed with weapons, but they did not challenge our soldiers. In fact, it seemed like they wanted to be captured,” Feredir said, confused even now as he spoke of it. 

Being the wife of a warrior and Captain of the Ithilien Guard, Terrwyn knew from Feredir’s stories that no Harad man just surrendered. Some of the worst wounds Feredir had acquired happened when he had tried to subdue a Southron on the verge of capture. She found this odd, and it reminded her of her findings with the Southrons she treated that morning, the same men Feredir spoke of.

“It’s funny that you should mention this about the prisoners. I, too, was a little thrown off by my findings as I examined them today. Rhawen and I treated their wounds, and some of them were new, probably from the scuffle in the healing house, but some looked to be older, festering for a while without treatment.” Terrwyn pushed herself up, sliding away from Feredir as she remembered the Haradrim she’d seen that morning. “Rhawen suggested that those wounds might have been there a week or so. And now you tell me that they wouldn’t engage in combat. It makes no sense. Obviously they were already in some sort of battle.”

“If they were, it wasn’t with us,” Feredir replied, now in deep thought. “Who might they have been battling?”

“If they were battle wounds they would have been found on their arms or hands, chest, legs, but these were mainly on their backs.” Terrwyn turned a skeptical eye towards her husband. “Feredir, I think these men were beaten.”

“Slaves?” Feredir leaned forward, fingers rubbing his chin, as he was trying to figure out the mystery. “But they attacked the Ithilien soldiers in the healing house. A slave would have been too submissive to react that way.”

Terrwyn felt the need to defend the Southrons. “It was your men who attacked first. The Southrons were cornered and scared. And there were far more Ithilien men than there were Southron captives. They were acting by instinct and reflex,” Terrwyn advised. “Had your men not targeted them—”

“They did not know these men might have been slaves, if that is what they are,” Feredir interrupted. “And when the Southrons became agitated, they responded as they should have … to protect the city and its people.” His brows creased together with annoyance. He was very protective of his troops. He was their Captain, and his men would always come first and foremost.

Terrwyn knew this, but she also knew that the Haradrim men did not instigate the brawl that ensued in the Healing House. They were forced into it by fear. It was how men behaved when they were still filled with the battle lust, and a hatred for Southrons helped to feed into that slow smoldering fire. Perhaps it could not have been helped, but no one raised a hand or a sword in her place of healing, whether they were friend or foe.

She let his comments slide off her shoulders, and turned to her husband with a smile. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. What’s done is done, and everyone has gone to their respectful places. Perhaps Glandur will have more information tomorrow. You did say he was questioning their leader, didn’t you?”

“Glandur is keeping him under close watch. If the man has talked, I have not been informed as of yet,” Feredir said, his form relaxing once again as he leaned back against the couch.

Terrwyn suddenly found herself held captive in Feredir’s arms, as he pulled her to him. Her legs draped over his, and she cuddled against his chest, once again enveloped in his warmth and strength. He lifted her face to meet his, slowly closing the distance between them until their lips touched. Terrwyn melted into his gentle kiss, letting him lead her further into their quiet world where nothing else seemed to matter. Feredir could always lure her in easily with his sultry kisses, and tonight was no different.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered, unable to wait any longer to feel him lying upon her body.

“We’ll never make it, Naru. I think we should make camp by the fire tonight,” he said as he lifted her from the couch, and lowered her to the fur rug in front of the hearth.

“But what about Norion. Aren’t you concerned that he might come downstairs while we are … uh hum?”

Feredir smiled fiendishly, “The boy is deep in dreams. It was a very big day for him. There’s not a lick of energy left. He’ll not wake until morning.” As he spoke, Feredir pushed her skirts down and was preceding to unlace her bodice. Terrwyn argued no more.

* * *

The next day, Feredir was off to meet with Commander Glandur to see what information he had gained from the Harad prisoner. Something Terrwyn pointed out festered in his mind. The wounds she’d found on the prisoner’s backs were not something he’d seen before. Slaves, Terrwyn had said they might be. That was not mysterious. Haradrim kept slaves within their clans, usually women or children, but there were some men too. However, in all his years of fighting and protecting the borders of Ithilien, Feredir had never seen Southron slaves mixed amongst the enemy troops. It was unheard of, yet it seemed evident that these were not trained warriors of the desert nation.

Feredir arrived at Commander Glandur’s office, knocked, and let himself in. It smelled of sandalwood and wax from the burning candles. It seemed Glandur had been here most of the night. So, Feredir was not the only one concerned about the prisoners and their story. Hopefully, Glandur could shed some light on things.

Glandur looked up from his ledger, and Feredir bowed as was custom among the elves. The Commander smiled when he laid eyes on his young Captain. Feredir was special to him. The raven haired elf had been somewhat of a problem when he was merely a soldier battling at the borders. Feredir was never one to listen, and it had gotten him into trouble on several occasions. But the young ellon had matured along the way, so much so that Glandur had promoted him to the position of Captain of the Ithilien Guard when Glandur was asked to step up to a Commander position. So far, he had not regretted that decision. Feredir took his job seriously, and would do nothing to jeopardize it.

“I thought I would find you here this morning, Feredir, and I’m sure I know the reason why,” Glandur offered.

“It has been on my mind all evening. Did you learn anything from the Southron?” Feredir asked.

Glandur closed his book and stood from his chair. He walked around to the front of his desk, standing before Feredir. “He talked, but I can’t say it has cleared up any of the mysteries.”

“What do you mean?” said Feredir, concerned.

“His name is Jubayr, and he is … or was a farmer,” Glandur answered.

“Was?” Feredir questioned.

Glandur nodded, “According to Jubayr, he was taken from his family and his land, and was assimilated into the Haradrim army. They forced him to take up a weapon, or they threatened to do away with his family. Jubayr is not the only Southron forced to serve in their army. Countless others have met the same fate.”

“That would explain Terrwyn’s findings,” Feredir said aloud.

“And what is that?” Glandur inquired.

“The prisoners she treated yesterday had old wounds and bruises on their backs, as though they had been beaten. We were beginning to think that they might be slaves.” Feredir paced the room as he often did when in deep thought. “It makes no sense though. The Southron army is large enough without having to force the commoner into the ranks.”

“That was my exact thought, but Jubayr explained further. Something fuels the Southrons, and it is not their hatred of Gondor. Many people of Harad wish to lead peaceful lives, even those who do not agree with our king. Like Jubayr, they are happy to live their lives and work their land, raise their families, and stay out of the politics between Gondor and Harad. But those same people are now claiming that a new enemy arises.”

Feredir was baffled by this. “What new enemy?” he asked. “As far as I know, there is no one who could summon so great a power as to instill fear into the hearts of Harad’s leaders, not now in this age.”

Glandur handed a paper to Feredir to read while he gave an account of his findings. “Perhaps it is the chieftain’s latest ploy to confuse Gondor. They might only be rumors, but then again–”

“And perhaps these men we find sympathy with are spies. I would not put it past the Southrons to beat their own men, send them into battle, have them surrender and comply with us, just as a way to infiltrate our society.” Feredir held the paper up and shook it. “And according to this, that’s exactly what we are doing.” He tossed the parchment onto Glandur’s desk. “Why would you offer them asylum?”

“Do not think I have not considered this, Feredir,” Glandur said with warning in his tone. “Spy or not, I believe they could be of greater help to us under our watch. And if they are ordinary citizens and I send them back to Harad, you know what will happen to them.”

Feredir knew very well what happened to Southrons after being captured, interrogated and released back to their own people. The military leaders were very suspicious and paranoid of anyone who spent any length of time in captivity under the watchful eye of their enemy, and especially Gondor. Fearing that they may be persuaded to become spies for the Gondorians, they were executed immediately upon arriving within Harad. Feredir had fought against the Southrons long enough to know, when cornered, they would choose death before capture.

“I do not like the idea of these prisoners being allowed to roam our city,” Feredir said.

“Which is why they will be under constant surveillance until we know what better to do with them.” Glandur placed a firm hand on Feredir’s shoulder. “What you must remember, Feredir, is that malice never really dies. It may be quelled for a time, but it eventually finds a new host to latch onto. Rumors like this one, if gone unchecked, make for difficult adversaries later on.” Glandur went back behind his desk and took a seat. He opened the ledger he had been writing in before Feredir showed, and then he gave Feredir his orders. “Set some of your men as guards for the Southrons, but allow them enough space to feel comfortable. Perhaps we will learn something more of this enemy Jubayr spoke of.”

With his orders in place, Feredir left the Commanders office, and made his way to his Captain’s quarters. As he went, he thought about this new enemy Glandur mentioned. Who would be stupid enough to try to bring about an uprising at this point and time? The Ring War had seen the destruction of the most powerful enemy, Sauron, as well as others who had chosen to ally with the Dark Lord of Mordor. With Gondor back in power, threats against the human kingdoms remained just that … threats.

Allowing the Southrons refuge within the city would create a problem with certain groups of people who lived here. Feredir and his men had had to put out more than a few fires when these men came upon Haradrim communities who decided to make Ithilien their home. These rebels did not like any Southrons, even those who deserted their country, and swore allegiance to the King of Gondor. Lately, the problem seemed to be growing, as more men joined this new cause, to rid Ithilien of all Southrons. But Ithilien was known for its blending of people from all over Middle-earth, and Southrons were a part of this world. Not all Haradrim agreed with their clan leaders. Not all agreed with their involvement in the war. There were many who would rather live a quiet simple life rather than one of constant rage. These were the kind of Southrons who lived in Ithilien. They wanted a chance at living a peaceful life, something they had never known in the past. But the emergence of the new Southrons, especially this group who had been captured during a threat to the borders, would cause the rebels to act out again. Feredir would need to prepare his city guardsmen, for there would likely be outrage when everyone learned about the newest community members.

Back at his office, Feredir called upon his troop leaders to discuss matters. They had all been put on high alert, and extra guards were assigned to the problem areas. When the meeting was over, Horphen, one of these leaders, and Feredir’s longtime friend, stayed behind to speak with him.

“They won’t stay, you know,” Horphen started. “The Southrons I mean. They won’t stay because of their families back in Harad.”

“I’ve thought of that also,” said Feredir with concern. “It’s a double edged blade, isn’t it? Stay, and their families will no doubt be tortured, sold into slavery or killed. Go back, and the men will likely be executed immediately.”

“They’ll most likely go home and face their punishment rather than see harm come to their families,” Horphen commented. “Why, in this new age, must there still be so much harsh cruelty. Sometimes, I do not understand the minds of men.”

“Neither do I, my friend, and I am half human.” As Feredir spoke, a thought came to him and he smiled. “But perhaps if they take our offer and stay, it will prove my notion that they are spies.”

“Ah,” Horphen agreed as he understood Feredir’s suggestion.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and Feredir called for the person to enter. It was a messenger from the main gates of the city. A young man barely old enough to shave stood in the threshold. He was panting and out of breath, obviously sent on an urgent mission. Feredir immediately thought there was trouble at the gates, and he stood, a troubled look upon his countenance.

“My lord … Feredir … Captain …” the messenger said as he tried to catch his breath.

“What has happened? Another attack by Southrons?” Feredir asked anxiously.

The man shook his head, then he nodded, then shook his head again and shrugged his shoulders.

“Out with it,” Horphen ordered, as he became impatient.

“There is a party approaching the city. They sent word ahead of their arrival. They are about half a day out. They’re from Eryn Lasgalen, my lord … elves, all of them … about four in all. Not a very big party. One of them has been injured.”

“Injured?” Feredir asked, “Did they say how?”

“Arrow, my lord.”

“Southrons? Orcs?” Horphen asked next.

“They did not say,” the man answered, finally able to breathe properly.

“Did they announce themselves in the message?” Feredir asked as he came out from behind his desk.

“They did, my lord, and one of them is your brother, Orthorien. The other is an elleth … Irneth. The other two are servants to Captain Orthorien and Lady Irneth.”

Feredir and Horphen regarded each other with shock. “Orthorien?” Feredir said.

“And my sister?” Horphen wondered aloud.

“I did not know that was your sister,” the young man mentioned. Then he turned to Feredir and bowed his head. “I’m sorry to inform you, but it is your brother, my lord, who has been injured.”

“Go immediately to the border captain’s headquarters, and tell him to send out two guards and a healer to meet the party,” Feredir commanded.

“Yes, Sir, right away,” the man bowed and left quickly.

“What are Orthorien and Irneth doing coming to Ithilien unannounced?” Horphen speculated curiously.

“What are Orthorien and Irneth doing together at all? I thought she despised my brother.” Feredir commented.

“That’s putting it nicely. I overheard her one day, say that she would stitch Orthorien’s cock to the inside of his thigh so he could no longer threaten her with it,” Horphen reminisced.

“I wonder if something serious has happened back home, though I think we would have known by now.”

Horphen furrowed his brow. “Didn’t Orthorien arrive the last time with an arrow wound?”

“He did,” Feredir remembered. “There was an attack near the gates. He was poisoned by an orc arrow. You don’t think it has happened again, do you?”

“Maybe not orcs, but more likely by Southrons. Perhaps they know about the prisoners.”

“That is possible,” Feredir thought. “I better notify Terrwyn. She’ll want to be there as soon as they enter the city.”

* * *

“Irneth and Orthorien?” Terrwyn exclaimed, just as shocked as Feredir had been at the news.

Feredir shrugged, “I’m baffled myself.

“Well, did they say how he was injured?” she asked as she gathered certain items and put them in her traveling kit. Terrwyn would meet the party at the gates and administer any medicine that was needed, just in case Orthorien was wounded much worse than they thought.

“All they reported was an arrow wound,” Feredir said.

“Not again,” Terrwyn worried. She remembered the time when Orthorien was brought to Master Curuven’s healing room. He was in terrible shape after being struck in the leg by a poisoned arrow. The poison had traveled throughout his body, and he was disillusioned into thinking that Curuven and his wife were trying to harm him. Terrwyn was the only one who could calm the confused and dangerous wood elf. At the time, she had just started her training as a healer, and she had no idea who Orthorien was or that he was Feredir’s brother.

“Shall we go?” she said to her husband, bag in hand, white healer’s robes flowing to the floor, her bright red hair neatly plaited at the sides and running along to the back of her head. Before leaving, she called for Rhawen and explained the emergency. “You’ll watch Norion won’t you?”

“Of course,” Rhawen said. “He’s upstairs at the moment. He’ll be fine.”

Terrwyn smiled, but with worry touching her eyes. Then she followed her husband out the door.

Feredir led her to their carriage, which she decided would be the best form of transportation should Orthorien not be able to ride upon his horse. As she climbed into the cab, Feredir admired her strength to take over the Master Healer’s position so easily. “You look as though you have been doing this all your life, Naru.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’ve been doing this all my life,” she smiled.

They finally reached the main gates of Ithilien. Terrwyn waited while Feredir checked on his men. She watched him smile and interact with the soldiers and guards on duty. Every one of his men respected him. Feredir was a very fair and wise Captain of the Ithilien army. She remembered how proud she was of him the day that he announced is promotion. It was the best thing that could have happened to them. As Captain, Feredir was home just about every night. Not like before when he was a border guard, and he was away for months on end. Terrwyn had worried for his safe return every time. It was still a dangerous job, and if he was called to duty, he always went, but for the most part, he was home with his wife and son. They had really made a very happy and comfortable life for themselves.

After a short while, Feredir came back to her. “The scouts have spotted them. Looks like they all ride, but there is a spare horse, a black steed of some sort.”

Terrwyn stood on the step of the carriage and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Yes, I think I see someone now. Someone rides out ahead of the others, one of the servants perhaps.” But as the figure got closer to the city, they saw that it was Irneth. She rode tall and proud upon her grey mare, chin held high, honey brown hair whipping in the wind, and a look of irritation on her stern face.

“Uh oh,” Feredir muttered to himself. “I’ve seen that look before. Seems it might not have been an easy journey from the Green Wood.”

In the distance, Terrwyn could see Irneth set her horse into a gallop. She must have seen everyone waiting at the gates. “Well, I don’t see the guards or the healer you sent out.”

“They must be behind with Orthorien. I hope he is alright,” Feredir said with worry tinging his words. Terrwyn smiled inwardly at his tone. There was a time when the half-brothers did not get along very well. They hadn’t seen each other in a very long time, and she was glad to hear that her husband’s resolved relationship with Orthorien was still valid.

The grey mare galloped through the gates, leaving a trail of dust rising from the ground. Terrwyn expected Irneth to be worried or anxious, if not for Orthorien, then for the safety of her party. Instead, her face lit up with joy at the sight of her red haired friend. The elleth graciously leapt down from her horse and hurried to Terrwyn.

“Oh, how good it is to see you again,” Irneth sang, embracing Terrwyn with a tight hold.

Terrwyn responded by surrounding Irneth with a return hug. “It’s been quite a few years, but you are just as beautiful as ever.”

Irneth released Terrwyn and looked to Feredir, who stood near his wife. The elleth grasped his shoulders and smiled. “Feredir, look at you. You are absolutely beaming with pride. I was so proud to hear you were promoted to Captain. There is no one more qualified.”

Then, seeing her brother, tears almost formed in her eyes, “Horphen, oh my, you’re so handsome. I’ve missed you so, so much.” She caught him in her arms like she used to do when he was younger. Horphen returned the embrace, but with slight hesitancy. They were all just a little confused by her brightness, especially if she and her party were set upon by enemies.

Feredir smiled, but his eyes revealed concern, finding Irneth to be in an unusually cheerful mood. “It is good to see you too, but … where’s my brother? How is he?” he asked cautiously.

Irneth’s hearty spirit turned sour quickly as she answered. “He’ll be along shortly. Your men are with him, no doubt being persuaded into sympathy by his charms.”

“What happened, Irneth?” Horphen asked. “Were you attacked on the road?”

“No, we had a rather uneventful journey, though quite long, but I was anxious to get to Ithilien. I have never traveled so far from my home before,” the elleth said excitedly.

“Then who shot Orthorien with an arrow?” Feredir asked.

Irneth seemed not to want to answer right away. She stuck her chin in the air pugnaciously and smiled arrogantly. “I did.”

“You what? Why?” Terrwyn almost shouted.

Anger filled Irneth’s brown eyes as she looked through Terrwyn, reminded of why she loathed Orthorien. “He lied to me, and not his usual kind of falsity. For months, he’s been lying and leading me to believe that he– And just to lure me back into his good graces. Why, the nerve of that … that … draug!”

“That’s no reason to shoot someone in the leg, even Orthorien,” Horphen reprimanded.

Seeing that she’d get no sympathy from her brother, and obviously tired of speaking with the opposite sex, Irneth smiled warmly to Terrwyn. “My dear, it has been a long and tiring journey. I would much prefer to go on ahead and settle in my guest quarters.”

“Well … I … I should stay here and see to Or … Orthorien when he arrives, you know, check the wound,” Terrwyn stuttered. She was unsure what to think of Irneth. She was definitely an elleth horribly scorned, and possibly unstable. 

“Oh, he’ll be alright. The arrow just grazed his inner thigh,” Irneth informed.

“You shot him in the leg?” Horphen asked with a raised tone of surprise.

Irneth smiled, but there was no joy in it. “I was aiming elsewhere. He’s lucky I am not a good shot.”

Hearing the distant sound of hooves coming up the road, Horphen hurried his sister along, helping her back onto her mare. “I’ll escort her to town,” he informed. Then he mounted his own horse and led Irneth away from the main gates, and away from view of Orthorien.

Terrwyn and Feredir were left dumbfounded as they watched the rest of the party approach the gate. The two guards that Feredir sent out to meet them rode ahead. The healer rode next to Orthorien, who looked uncomfortable atop his horse, and no wonder if there was an arrow wound on the inside of his thigh, Terrwyn thought. Behind them were the two servants, a young male with shoulder length sable hair, and a young female who looked strikingly similar to the ellon. Judging by the dropped jaws and the astonished looks on their faces as they gazed past the gates and into the city of Ithilien, Terrwyn figured they were just at majority age, had never been beyond the borders of Eryn Lasgalen, and they were twins.

The guards rode in, dismounted and approached Feredir, bowing respectfully. “Captain, we’re happy to report that the company was not attacked, but unfortunately there was an accident amongst the members. Your brother was teaching his lady how to hunt small prey. She misfired and struck him in the leg.” As the first guard spoke, the second one tried to remain straight-faced, but it was obviously a funny situation.

“Thank you. You may go back to your duties immediately. I’ll take care of things here,” Feredir said, and the guards bowed and directed their horses to the stable hands before entering the city.

Terrwyn leaned to Feredir’s ear and huffed, “Hunting accident?”

They looked back and watched Orthorien struggle to dismount without further injuring himself. He winced, but smiled through the pain. Then he walked awkwardly towards Feredir, arms outstretched. “Ai, little brother, how good to see you.” Orthorien embraced him in a brotherly hug and a hearty pat on the back. Feredir did likewise. Then he turned to Terrwyn and with a chivalrous bow, he said, “Lovely as ever, Terrwyn, and always a pleasure.”

“Orthorien, we were not expecting you. You sent no correspondence of your arrival,” Feredir said confused.

Orthorien smiled and shrugged, trying his best to maintain his usual suaveness, but failing miserably with the pain he must have been in.

Feredir looked past Orthorien, noticing a large beautiful black beast of a stallion with no rider, no saddle or packs.

“Surprise!” Orthorien called out belatedly. “And the reason for my secrecy. I’ve brought you a present.”

“A horse?” Feredir was perplexed. “I have a horse.”

“You have Terrwyn’s old beast, Brannoss,” Orthorien jested.

“Hey, that is my horse you are talking about. And he’s not old. He’s mature,” Terrwyn complained, but with humor in her tone.

“I beg your pardon, my lady. It is true, Brannoss is a dependable steed, but Feredir needs a horse of his own. You are Captain of the Ithilien army now, and only the very best will do for my brother,” Orthorien boasted. “Besides, this is no ordinary horse. I’ve searched high and low for this breed. I finally got wind of a herd near the foothills of the Blue Mountains, and I contacted a renowned horse breeder and trainer who lives in Lindon. And … well … after a grueling search and many long hours of training, may I present to you, Belroch.” 

The name meant powerful horse in Sindarin, and Feredir could see why. He was magnificent, completely black, long head, powerfully muscled, as large as a work horse, but elegant like one of the Mearas. His mane and tail were long and full, almost touching the ground, tightly curled instead of straight like most horses. He was at least 17 hands at the withers, as glorious and mighty a beast as Feredir had ever seen.

“He is absolutely gorgeous,” Feredir commented, stunned by the sheer beauty of the horse.

“I think he will adapt easily. I had no trouble with him during our travels,” Orthorien said, patting Belroch’s thick neck. “You shouldn’t have to work with him long before he considers you his rider.”

“And he comes from the Blue Mountains, you say?” Terrwyn asked.

Orthorien nodded. “This particular breed was said to have gone extinct long ago. It’s said that they were a direct descendent of the Mearas of ancient days. So naturally, when I heard rumors of sightings, I knew there was no other horse better for my brother.”

Feredir reached out and ran his hand along the silky smooth black coat of the horse. Belroch’s head swiveled to see who was touching him. He let out a snort, his big black eyes settling on Feredir. Then the horse nodded several times, his long mane waving in the slight breeze. “I think he will do just fine.” Feredir regarded his brother with a shy smile. “I don’t know what to say, but … thank you, Orthorien.”

Orthorien returned the smile with genuine warmth and brotherly love. Then he winced when he shifted his weight. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate a ride to the healing house,” he said, eyeing the cart.

“Oh, of course. That’s why we came by carriage,” Terrwyn said. “Horphen went on ahead with Irneth. They should be there soon.”

Orthorien cringed, but not from the pain of the wound. “Ai, hopefully that wicked woman will not be there.”

“Shot you while teaching her to hunt?” Feredir asked with a suspicious raise of his brow. “That’s not how she says it happened.”

“No, that’s how I said it happened when I had to explain myself to your men. The truth is, she can’t handle the fact that she has fallen for me, no matter how it came about, and instead of accepting my apology with grace she tried to skewer the one part of me that I take great pride in.” His hand reached down, cupping himself as he flinched. “Lucky for me, she missed.”

“Very lucky,” Feredir agreed, helping Orthorien into the carriage. Then he helped Terrwyn inside.

Being a healer, she couldn’t help but stare at the place where the bandages covered the wound. She was looking for signs of blood. Although the inside of the thigh seemed like a hilarious place to receive an arrow wound, it could be quite dangerous if certain veins were involved. However, the bandage looked clean. It didn’t seem as though the wound bled profusely.

“Will you be taking care of me, for old times’ sake?” Orthorien asked with his usual irresistible charm.

“I have an assistant who handles … small … matters,” she said, returning the banter.

Feredir shook his head. “You have not changed, Orthorien,” he laughed. Then he called up to the driver to take them to the Healing House, and they were on their way. Stable hands came out to take Belroch and the other horses to the stables. The healer escorted the servant twins to their quarters, where they could continue to be of service to their employers. And Terrwyn and Feredir couldn’t wait to get to the bottom of things, and find out what Orthorien and Irneth were doing together in the first place.


	5. Target Practice

Feredir and Terrwyn arrived at the Healing House with Orthorien. The silver haired visitor from Eryn Lasgalen poked his head out of the carriage, checking to see if Irneth was anywhere in sight. Horphen stood outside the entrance wearing a scowl upon his handsome face. Orthorien sighed, realizing that Irneth spoke to her brother about their mishap. “Ai,” he muttered to himself, “I’m in deeper than I thought.”

Feredir helped his wife out, and then his brother. Terrwyn took Orthorien’s arm and led him towards her office. Horphen’s eyes narrowed as he watched Orthorien pass and enter the Healing House, but it was Feredir he wanted to talk to first. “Feredir, I need a word with you. It’s about the prisoners.”

Orthorien overheard, but Terrwyn, knowing this was a matter for Ithilien’s guards, and no concern to her patient, escorted him into her healer’s quarters. “Come along and let’s have a look at that leg,” she said cheerfully.

Once Orthorien was gone, Horphen spoke. “The Southrons wish to depart.”

“As we suspected. When?” Feredir asked.

“Soon, but they wish to speak with you and Commander Glandur first.”

Feredir nodded. “Very well, I’m on my way. Tell Terrwyn where I’ve gone.”

Meanwhile, Terrwyn helped Orthorien into the back where she kept all her medicines and surgical equipment. She directed him to one of the beds. Orthorien laid down and breathed a sigh of relief to finally be able to rest.

“I’ll admit,” he said, “Though it does not seem like much, it is very painful.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“Only just the night before. We had just made camp for the night when Irneth … saw something that she should not have,” he admitted regrettably.

Terrwyn gave him a patient robe and pulled a curtain. “Strip and put that on.” She finished closing the curtain to give him his privacy, but stopped and gave Orthorien a slit-eyed stare. “And make sure EVERYTHING is covered when I open this curtain.”

“Terrwyn,” he said, mocking hurt. “You are bound to my brother now. I’d not try such a thing with a married woman.” Just as he spoke, Terrwyn’s assistant, Rhawen walked up and looked to see who was in the patient bed. Orthorien’s eyes widened at the sight of the blond haired, blue eyed beauty. “However, if this lady is available–”

“Orthorien,” Rhawen said with recognition. “Or rather, Captain Orthorien.”

He furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“Not officially, but I know your sister, Avorniel.”

Orthorien’s hopefulness disappeared and he settled into the pillow. Avorniel was one of Irneth and Horphen’s older sisters, and she hated him. No doubt, Terrwyn’s assistant would have heard all the stories about his wayward days. There’d be no seducing this one. Instead, he crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling. “Can’t an ellon have a little privacy around here?” he said with irritation.

Terrwyn tried to hide her smile and closed the curtain.

* * *

Feredir arrived at Glandur’s private office to find the leader of the Southrons seated in front of Glandur’s desk. The man looked careworn and scared. It was obvious that he knew what he was going home to.

“Feredir, this is Jubayr,” Glandur introduced.

Feredir, familiar with the Southron’s language, made his introductions so that the man would know he spoke the same tongue. “My commander tells me that you and your men have decided to go back to Harad.”

“Yes,” Jubayr answered with a nod.

“Then you must also know the risk you are taking by returning.”

“We are aware,” Jubayr answered. “But this is not the reason I call you both here today.” Jubayr switched to Westron so that there would be no confusion. “I know I will not live long once I enter into my country, and it is for this reason that I have decided to warn you and your countrymen. There is evil growing in the south, a new form of it, and it will spread here too, if it goes unchecked.”

“You have told me of this evil before,” Glandur said.

Jubayr nodded. “It has no name. It has no face, yet it spreads through Harad like wildfire. My people are scared. Our clan chieftains are intimidated. They act out of fear, for their own have been threatened.”

“If it is unseen,” Feredir asked, “then how has this new foe made threats against your leaders?”

“It comes to them in their sleep. It comes to them in their dreams. It shows them visions in the dark that come true in the light. This is the reason they build armies and set upon your borders, for it is what they’ve been told to do. They cannot fight what they cannot see, so they make allegiances with it.”

“Why does it want to start a new war?” Glandur inquired.

“It is looking for something, and once it has everything it needs, its power will be unstoppable,” Jubayr answered.

“What is this new menace looking for?” Glandur asked.

“The Brethren of Soothsayers,” Jubayr answered in a whisper.

Feredir shook his head and looked towards Glandur. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Why attack Gondor? Are these seers here within the city?”

“I do not have any answers. Look into your history. Look far, far back, and perhaps you will find what you seek.” Jubayr seemed relieved. “There is no more. I have done what I can to help, and perhaps my soul will find rest in the eternal realm.”

Feredir heard the hopelessness in the man’s voice and was burdened by it. “Jubayr, is there something we can do, if not for you, then for your family?”

Jubayr shook his head slowly from side to side. “It is likely they have already confiscated my lands and left my family homeless. My wife,” he said and a sad smile escaped the corners of his mouth, “she is very smart and resourceful. She will see that our baby daughter is taken care of, even if she herself succumbs to death. If so, we will meet beyond this world.”

Jubayr stood from his chair and bowed to the two elves. Glandur bowed in answer. Feredir did too, and then he took the Southron man’s hand. “I’m sorry if I had any doubts about you, Jubayr. You are an admirable man, and I only wish there was something more I could do.”

Jubayr nodded, but said nothing and left the room. He would gather the other men of his company, those willing to go back to save family, and leave the city with an elvish escort to the borders. After that, they would be on their own.

* * *

Horphen pushed the door open to the examining room rather harshly, and found Rhawen bending over Orthorien, who had his legs spread apart while she stitched his wound. Luckily, he was wearing some kind of strange undergarment that hid his indecency. Horphen’s eyes narrowed anyways, as he went to the bed. “Couldn’t you have let someone else do that?” he asked irritated.

“If I don’t practice, I’ll never learn, Horphen,” she complained.

Orthorien raised a brow and smiled at Horphen. “I detect a hint of jealousy. Does this mean that the two of you are–?”

“Yes!” Horphen demanded, making Rhawen stop in the middle of a stitch, and look up at him.

“Yes? Since when?”

He raised his hand and pointed to her patient. “Since I found you with your hands too close to his–” Horphen stopped before finishing his own sentence.

Rhawen abandoned her patient, the needle pushed only half way through Orthorien’s skin, and scowled at Horphen. “Oh, so now you want to claim me as yours. How convenient.”

“Uh, Horphen,” Orthorien called out, “perhaps now is not the time for this discussion.”

“No,” Rhawen challenged, “If he wants to speak, let him speak.”

“Rhawen,” Horphen said sweetly, “you know of my feelings for you.”

“I know that you make promises you cannot keep,” she shot back.

“I told you why I didn’t show for dinner. I was called away on urgent business,” Horphen explained, and seemingly, not for the first time.

Rhawen walked the few steps to where Horphen stood. She looked him deep in his eyes, sorrow filling her own. “I have been very patient with you. I have given you space. I have given you time. Still, it is never enough. You want to keep me waiting, hanging on your every word, but I am not that kind of elleth. I want someone who wants to be with me, and nothing else. I need stability. You can be very sweet, Horphen, and that is the elf I want to know, but you run from yourself also. It’s as though you see it as a sign of weakness. I want chivalry and strength, not someone who seeks a life of pleasure without responsibility or attachments.”

“Are you saying I am a philanderer?” Horphen accused.

“What’s wrong with that?” Orthorien chimed in.

“Shut up!” Rhawen and Horphen yelled simultaneously.

Rhawen collected herself, blinked slowly and swallowed hard. “I’m saying that you like the chase more than the catch.”

Horphen knew he had taken things too far, and he tried to explain. “Please, Rhawen, if you will just give me one more chance–”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore,” she said sadly. Then she turned to Orthorien lying on the bed, half stitched. “I can’t do this.” With tears threatening to escape, Rhawen fled from the examining room.

Orthorien watched her leave, amazed and drop jawed. Then he looked to Horphen. “Who is going to finish this?” he said gesturing to his leg.

“Well, don’t look at me,” Horphen said.

The door opened again, and they both expected it to be Rhawen. To Horphen’s surprise, and to Orthorien’s fright, it was Irneth. She marched in and went straight to the bed. “There you are, you lying sack of orc shit.”

“You, stay far away from me,” Orthorien warned. “Already you have cost me this wound, and now your brother may have cost me my leg, unless someone comes to finish what the assistant started.”

“Oh, I’ll finish it for you. Where do they keep the knives?” Irneth was in no mood for him. “How could you? How could you lead me on like that?”

“Irneth, my dear, I know I should have told you the truth, but everything between us was going along so perfectly. I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Didn’t matter? Didn’t matter!” she shouted. “You led me to believe that you heard the calling, and you don’t think it matters?”

“You did what?” Horphen interrupted, suddenly concerned for his sister.

“You stay out of it,” Orthorien demanded of Horphen. “And as for me leading you on, I did no such thing,” he said to Irneth. “You conjured up that idea all on your own.”

“You, Orthorien, are nothing more than a swindling, deceitful, overbearing, pretentious, lying piece of sh–”

“What is going on in here?” Terrwyn called from the door. “And why did I just witness Rhawen running out of here, crying?”

“Ah, finally,” Orthorien said. “Will you so kindly finish what your assistant started before Horphen came in and destroyed her world?”

Terrwyn approached her patient and examined him. “She didn’t finish her work?”

“I’m afraid that was my fault,” Horphen admitted. “We had an argument.”

Terrwyn glanced at Horphen, “Oh no, not again. And I thought everything was working out for the two of you.”

“Apparently not,” Orthorien answered. “And now I have a needle protruding from my leg, and only half the stitching finished, no thanks to you and your rash behavior.” He directed this last comment towards Irneth.

“I should have stuck you where I intended,” she muttered.

“Well, it’s a big enough target,” Orthorien said proudly.

“Alright!” Terrwyn interrupted. “That will be enough out of all of you. Horphen, escort Irneth anywhere but here. Then go and find Tharon, and tell him I need his assistance, at least until I can locate Rhawen.” She turned to Orthorien. “You just lay there and do not say another word.”

Horphen did as he was told, and led Irneth from the examining room. Terrwyn set to work and finished stitching Orthorien’s leg. She bandaged him and told him he should not get on a horse for at least a week, unless he wanted to rupture the wound, and risk damaging a major artery. She hoped it would be enough of a warning to keep Orthorien in Ithilien for a while, least he should run off before she got to the bottom of things. She didn’t trust Orthorien to give her a straight story, so when he was resting comfortably, she went upstairs to see if anyone was around.

It was within Limil and Curuven’s entertaining room that she found Horphen and Irneth. He was standing by a window, looking out and wearing a forlorn face. Irneth was seated on the couch, and Norion was sitting next to her, telling her all about his latest adventures with his father.

“Nana!” the boy shouted as he jumped up and ran to his mother.

“Oh my, what a welcome,” Terrwyn said as she captured him in her arms.

“Nana, I was talking to Irneth, and she said she comes from the Green Wood, just like Ada and Antien and Glandur. She’s never been to Ithilien before, and I told her she should come with me and Ada next time we go hunting.”

“That was very nice of you, Norion, but I don’t think Irneth wants to hunt. Though, she has had some practice lately,” Terrwyn smiled, jesting to Irneth. “Horphen, can I persuade you to take Norion for a while, and let Irneth and I have some time alone to … discuss things?”

Horphen came out of his trance, and smiled graciously, “Of course. Come along, Norion. Let’s go to the circle and I’ll buy you a treat from one of the street venders.”

Norion jumped excitedly. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Before they left, Terrwyn stopped Horphen. “Do you know where Feredir is?”

“Oh, I apologize. I was supposed to tell you that he was called away. Glandur needed to speak to him. That was a while ago. He should be about through with the meeting by now.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, and watched Horphen take Norion’s hand and lead him out of the room.

Terrwyn turned her attention to Irneth, who was smiling warmly. “He is adorable, and the spitting image of his father,” Irneth commented.

“He loves Feredir so much, and wants to make his father proud of him all the time.”

“You are both so lucky to have found each other,” Irneth said.

“Speaking of which, are you going to tell me what is going on between you and Orthorien? I was under the impression that you loathed him, but obviously something happened between the two of you.”

Irneth breathed deep and let it out slowly. “I thought things were different, but I was fooled once again. Why do I keep falling for his charms?”

“Well, look at him. He is absolutely gorgeous. He’s a warrior. He’s built like one too.”

Irneth shook her head. “I always let him get to me. I’ve tried time and time again to avoid him, but he just enters a room, and I feel myself swoon. I hate that.”

“You really do like him, don’t you?” Terrwyn asked with a smile.

“I don’t want to, but some part of me can’t help it. My sisters remind me all the time to stay clear of him, and I did so successfully for many years.” She stopped and looked at Terrwyn with a raised brow. “You know, it is your fault that I let him into my life again.”

“My fault? How did I have anything to do with it?”

“At your wedding, you asked me to participate, and Orthorien was there for Feredir. As witnesses, he and I had our duties to fulfill and that meant having to be in close proximity with him. Do you know he came with someone, and abandoned her just to try to seduce me?”

“Did it work?” Terrwyn asked.

“I’m here now aren’t I?” Irneth stood from the couch and went to the window. She sighed deeply as she gazed out over the city. “He was being very insistent that night at the binding ceremony. I kept pushing him away, but he just would not leave me to my own. He said he wanted one dance with me and nothing more. I thought, what harm could there be? It was just a dance. Well, we danced and … and it was lovely. For that one moment, I saw Orthorien for who he could be. He was sweet and charming. He said all the right things. He made me feel beautiful … and desired, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.” Irneth turned back to Terrwyn, finding her intently listening to the story. Irneth smiled shyly. “We admitted that we were both lonely. Though others had come and gone, neither one of us had found what we were looking for. So we made a pact.”

“You what?” Terrwyn said curiously.

“We agreed that when the time came, when we finally heard the calling to sail, if neither one of us had settled, we would sail together.”

“That is such a romantic notion.”

Irneth shook her head at the thought. “I don’t think either of us took it seriously. I was sure that by the time I sailed, I would be with my soul mate. Orthorien’s offer seemed like a silly bargain, harmless … so I agreed to it.”

“So when did it change into something more?” Terrwyn got up and went to Irneth, laying a gentle hand to her shoulder for support.

“It was a few years after you and Feredir left. I had continued to successfully avoid Orthorien, and didn’t think much about it until we ran into each other one day while passing in the hall. His mind was preoccupied, so much so that he didn’t try any of his usual tricks with me. He was consumed by something, and I thought it was odd for him to behave that way. Anyways, we bumped into each other, quite literally, dropping our things on the floor. I made some comment about him being clumsy, but Orthorien was a million miles away it seemed. I helped him gather his items, and noticed a letter that had been overlooked. There was a wax seal on it with the symbol of Lindon staring back at me. I didn’t think much of it at first, but his continued aloofness bothered me. I’ve seen others in a similar state, and soon they would announce their departure.”

Irneth moved away from the window and searched a shelf full of books. “Orthorien would never miss an opportunity to make some snide remark or a lewd comment. It was his habit, and I always expected something like that from him, but when he stopped his usual behavior, I thought of the Lindon seal and pieced it together.” She turned from the books and looked across the room to Terrwyn. “I was sure that Orthorien had heard the calling, that he meant to move to Lindon, and from there, set sail to the Undying Lands.”

“So you thought he was leaving,” Terrwyn said softly.

Irneth nodded. “We had made an agreement, and as silly as it was, I guess I realized that I took it seriously. We would go together if we had no one else to go with. And here I thought he was going alone. I thought he was leaving me because I hadn’t felt the pull of the sea. Then I realized that … that I … I didn’t want him to go … without … me.”

Terrwyn crossed the room and hugged her friend. “Oh Irneth, I’m so sorry.”

Irneth’s eyes filled with tears as she relived those moments when she thought Orthorien would be gone from her life, but as the first tear slid down her cheek, she found her anger and her strength. She pulled away from Terrwyn’s embrace and straightened herself. “It was a lie, and he led me into believing what I thought was the truth.”

“How did you find out? Did he finally tell you that he had no intension of leaving?” Terrwyn’s heart went out to her friend, and a new form of disrespect grew for Orthorien.

“We were on our way here, to bring Feredir the horse and to visit. I was … I was so happy. Orthorien and I had finally mended our past hurts. He was so wonderful. I thought he’d finally become the elf that I always knew existed deep inside.” Sorrow gave way to anger as she spoke. “We stopped for our last night on the road, and I was looking through his things for something. I can’t remember what it was, a comb or a piece of flint for the fire. I came across the letter, the same one I’d seen that day in the hallway, the one from Lindon. Curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know what was in the letter. I’d always thought it was correspondence about ship schedules or perhaps housing within the seaside town. Many elves made Lindon their home while they were waiting to sail. But do you know what it was? It was a letter from the horse trainer in Lindon, the one who helped Orthorien acquire Belroch.”

“That bastard!” Terrwyn seethed, sticking up for Irneth.

“Yes, well, my reaction was a little rash or perhaps ill-considered … but justified.”

Terrwyn gasped, “The arrow.”

Irneth nodded. “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t run away. We were camped out along the roadside in the middle of nowhere. Arguing did not seem to be a fulfilling form of punishment. My head was swimming with all the times we talked about sailing, and how he was glad we were together, that he would not be alone anymore. I thought of all the times we made love so passionately, and how I really felt that he loved me. I felt used. I felt like the biggest fool in Eryn Lasgalen to have fallen for him … again. I swore I would never … and I did. My embarrassment turned to rage. It felt like blood would shoot from my eyes. Blood for blood, my mind screamed, and I picked up the closest weapon, his bow.”

Irneth pretended she was holding said bow, and raised her arms as she nocked an invisible arrow. “He came strolling out of the woods, his arms full of wood and tender for the fire. He was smiling, and the stars seemed to shine in his golden eyes, completely unaware.” She pulled her arm back in demonstration. “I aimed at the first thing that came to mind, the one place that I knew I could hurt him the most, and right before I loosed my arrow, my hand shook, and I missed my target, hitting him in the leg instead of his … prized possession.”

“You could have killed him,” Terrwyn said shocked. “You could have fatally wounded him. I’m not saying you had no right to be upset, but what you did was very dangerous.”

Irneth hung her head and closed her eyes. “I know. I … know. But at the time, I wanted him to hurt just as badly as I was hurting.” She slowly raised her head and looked at her friend. “What have I done, Terrwyn? What have I become?”

* * *

Horphen had taken Norion into town and filled him with all sorts of treats. They were sitting by the elvish fountain in the center of the circle, telling riddles, when Feredir came along, relieving Horphen of his child sitting duties. He loved watching Norion, but right now, his emotions were scattered. On the one hand, he might have ruined his only chance with Rhawen, and on the other, his sister was brokenhearted because of Orthorien. Horphen decided to interrogate Orthorien and find out exactly what had happened between him and his sister.

He made his way back to the Healing House and found Orthorien resting comfortably in one of the patient rooms. Orthorien sat up defensively, giving the brown haired elf a stone-faced look.

“Are you here to berate me? Because if you are, I am in no mood for it,” Orthorien said sharply.

“I want to know why you can’t leave my sister alone. She told you a long time ago that she wanted nothing more to do with you,” Horphen scolded.

“I’m not sure it is any of your business.”

“If it is about my sister, it is my business. Why, Orthorien? Why do you always slight her? She deserves so much better than you.” Horphen stopped and huffed a laugh, looking down and to the side. “And Rhawen has the nerve to accuse me of being a philanderer.”

Orthorien’s eyes turned to slits as he scowled towards Horphen. “I’ll have you know that while I was with your sister, there was no one else. I would not do that to her.”

“You must have done something serious for her to have shot you in the leg with your own arrow.”

Orthorien adjusted himself, wincing as he did. He took a moment to straighten his thoughts. His long silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his golden eyes seemed to have lost some of their shine. It was time that he confessed his mistakes. “Irneth is right. I lied, but not about other women as you might think.” He proceeded to tell Horphen about the night of Feredir and Terrwyn’s wedding, about the dance, and about the deal he struck with her. Remembering that night brought back fond memories and strong emotions. “There had always been something about Irneth that intrigued me. She’s unlike any other elleth I’ve ever known. I used to think it was because she was so unobtainable, but it was more than that. There I was at the binding ceremony with this gorgeous auburn haired beauty, one of Cirdan’s people, come to escort those wishing to make the trip to the Grey Havens. She was easily in my grasp, and I had planned on ravaging her all through the night. And then, I had a moment alone with Irneth after Feredir and Terrwyn made their entrance into the hall. I stood at her side, both of us waiting to make our own entrance as witnesses to the blessed couple. I … I can’t say what it was that hit me, but suddenly I felt as though that moment would be the only time I would know what it was like to enter a decorated hall and make the long walk through a happy crowd of people there to celebrate a binding. And just before we entered through the doors, I looked over at your sister, lovely as could be, beautiful in her own stubborn way, and I thought, out of all of them, she was the only one I could imagine making that walk with. It was foolish, I know, but the thought struck me like a cannonball. For the rest of the evening, I tried to get in her good graces, but you know your sister. She’d have nothing to do with me. So it turned into a game once more. And then, I said something to her, some comment that I don’t remember, but she smiled, and it was genuine. Her eyes sparkled and her laugh filled me with warmth. No one has ever touched me that way. I knew she still despised me, and I reckon that’s the reason for our silly agreement. I knew she’d find love before she sailed, but just on the odd chance that she didn’t, at least she’d have me, and I would know she would not be lonely.”

Horphen had listened carefully to Orthorien’s story, and he could feel the genuine interest the elf took in his sister. Horphen, despite what had transpired between his sister and the Green Wood captain, liked Orthorien. They had worked together in the past, when Feredir needed their help locating Terrwyn’s lost brother, Hathmund. They worked quite well as a team, and Horphen respected Orthorien as a soldier. As a match for his sister, however, Horphen was hesitant, and with good reason. He knew of the silver haired elf’s wicked ways, and though he wished he could live the kind of carefree life that Orthorien led, he did not want to see Irneth involved with him.

“Sounds to me as though you both made a connection that night, but something happened, didn’t it?” Horphen demanded.

“Irneth came to her senses, and by the end of the evening, she was back to loathing me. I let her be though. I decided to try a different tactic and I gave her the space she required. If she wanted to befriend me, then I’d let it happen on her terms. Instead, she ended up avoiding me like she always did.”

“How did you end up together then?” Horphen asked, becoming interested in the story with every moment that passed.

Orthorien’s brows creased together with regret. “Oh, it was that damn letter from Lindon. We had accidentally ran into each other, and she picked up the letter to hand back to me. She had seen the seal of Lindon on it. At the time, I hadn’t known anything about that. All of a sudden, she was speaking to me and being courteous. She started asking the oddest questions, but I answered them to the best of my ability. At first, I couldn’t figure out what kind of spell she was under, not until she started asking me things about Lindon and the Grey Havens. I was sitting in my office one day, when I opened a drawer and staring back at me was the letter with the seal. I began piecing the puzzle, and figured out why she was being so nice to me. She had seen the letter with the Lindon seal, and assumed that I was leaving.”

“Why didn’t you tell her the truth then?” Horphen asked, almost angered. He turned from the bed, away from Orthorien, and paced the patient room. “You could have told her before it got too far.” Horphen spun on his heel, his eyes full of shards of ice as he regarded Orthorien. He knew only to defend his sister, knowing her heart was aching right now. “Instead, you chose to lead her down your path of lies, all because of what? Because you can’t keep your cock in your trousers? Or was it because Irneth was the one thing you could not have, and everyone knows that Orthorien the almighty must conquer all.”

Orthorien sat straight up in bed, and swung his legs over the side. He got up as quickly as one could with stitches and bandages, ignoring the pain it caused. He got in Horphen’s face, answering the challenge thrown upon him. “Don’t dare speak to me like that.”

Horphen, a seasoned warrior, did not back down. He stood unmoving before Orthorien, and glared into those golden eyes. “Nothing is sacred to you. You’ve always seen what you wanted and taken it for your own, at least until you tired of it. Irneth was the only one who could see through you though. That letter and your lies was the only thing that would draw her to you, and you seized the opportunity, regardless of the outcome. How long did you think you could fool her? Oh, but it was long enough to earn her trust.”

“You know nothing of Irneth and me,” Orthorien snarled.

“I know that you used her for your own selfish desires,” Horphen answered. He could feel Orthorien tensing, and readied himself for whatever the other had to give.

“You think you have me all figured out. You say that Irneth was the one thing I could not have, and you are right, but not for the reasons you accuse me of.”

“What are your real reasons then?” Irneth asked from the door. No one had heard her come in, and they were both shocked to see the elleth.

Horphen went to her first, taking her arm to lead her away, but Irneth stopped him. She looked at her brother, giving him the slightest of smiles. “It’s all right. I’m not going to injure him, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She looked over Horphen’s shoulder to where Orthorien stood. 

Horphen could sense their need to speak alone. He patted his sister’s hand. “I’ll not be far if you should need me.” With a final glare over his shoulder directed at Orthorien in warning, he left the room.

Irneth looked around the room, and found some open bottles on a side table. She went to them, busying herself so she didn’t have to give Orthorien her full attention. She didn’t think she was ready to do that just yet, but she could listen to him at least.

“I did not expect to see you so soon,” Orthorien said cautiously, taking a seat once more on his bed.

“I want to hear what you have to say,” Irneth said sternly. “So what reason could you possibly have for letting me think you were sailing instead of telling me it was all a misunderstanding?”

The fact that she came back lightened Orthorien’s heart, but she was still like a hare ready to dash off at any moment. He had to be very careful with his words, or she would be gone, and this time perhaps permanently.

“What would you have done if I told you? You had already assumed the worst, and only from seeing a wax seal. If I had told you the letter contained correspondence about a horse, what would you have done? Tell me you would not have gone away from me.”

“But if you had only told me from the beginning,” Irneth said, almost pleading.

“I had no inclination, when you started speaking to me, that you did so because you thought I was leaving Middle-earth. I … I thought you genuinely wanted to end our quarrel and become … friends.”

Irneth had not thought of this side of the situation before. It was true. She befriended him after years of avoidance because of a misconception. There was no way he could have known that. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt in that incident, but eventually you knew my reasons. Why did you not speak up then?”

“Because . . .” Orthorien got up from the bed and went to Irneth. He stood behind her and spoke softly into her ear. “Because I was in too deep, and I knew you would flee from me again. You always have, and some part of me thinks that you always will.” He put his hand on her shoulder and ushered her into a turn so that he could look into her eyes. “Now it is my turn. Why did it take the vaguest conception that I’d meant to sail for you to consider me?”

Irneth was dumbstruck. She hadn’t any answer for this. She’d avoided asking herself the same thing ever since allowing Orthorien back into her life. As she stood there before him, her mouth opened in answer, but nothing came out.

Orthorien’s eyes fell away from her face, and turned to the floor between them. “Would you have allowed me another chance, Irneth?” he asked in a whisper.

She knew the answer, had known it all along, but she didn’t want to admit it. Now, here he was asking for an honest response. She inhaled, wanting to give him all the excuses she’d told herself, but only one word came out. “No.”

Orthorien took a step away from her and turned to the side. His head hung, chin touching his chest as he nodded. “I thought so,” he said disappointedly. Somehow he had always known this to be true, but he’d lived the lie for too long, avoiding what truths lay hidden below the surface. “Then I was not the only one basing this relationship on a lie.” Orthorien went away from her, going to the opposite side of the room where his clothes were folded neatly on a chair.

“Orthorien … I … I’m sorry,” she said regretfully. “I think that … a part of me just could not believe … could not trust–”

He held his hand up to stop her, and leaned against the chair in front of him. He looked like he was still in a lot of pain, and Irneth knew it was not all from the leg wound. “Are … are you alright?” she asked, just to make sure he was not in need of medical attention.

“I’ll be fine. I always am, aren’t I? It’s just … some things are hard to hear,” he admitted.

“Some things are … hard to say,” she admitted in return.

He wouldn’t look at her, and she didn’t want him to. Instead, Irneth fled from the room in a rush of blue silk, her robes billowing out behind her and disappeared through the door of the patient room. Orthorien was left on his own, alone once more, and he was used to this, but he was always the one to leave first. This time he could not, and the loneliness had never spoken so loudly.


	6. Road Trip to the White City

Feredir was on his way to the stables on a bright and crisp morning. It was the start to the kind of day where there was energy in the air. Everything looked sharper and smelled cleaner. The flowers were opened wider, and the grass stood taller. Life all around was in full bloom. It would be a good day, he thought to himself.

He reached the stable, eager to spend another morning working with Belroch. The black stallion was becoming used to his new rider, though he still posed a challenge in one way or another. Feredir knew the horse was testing him, seeing how far it could push the limits of Feredir’s patience. Since he was an elf, he had much in the way of patience. Belroch would come around eventually, and he would do it on his own terms. Feredir loved this sort of game. Both elf and horse would give and push back, testing, teasing, and discovering what it meant to become as one, rider and beast.

Feredir was surprised to find Orthorien there, checking his horse and preparing it for travel. “Where are you off to, and do you have my wife’s permission to ride with that leg wound?” he asked surprising his older brother.

“I am well enough,” Orthorien answered tersely. The tension was instantly thick.

“I take it things did not go well with Irneth?” Feredir asked.

Orthorien did not look at his brother, and kept busy tying bags to his horse. “She made her decision to end anything between us when she shot me, and she made it very clear that she never wants anything to do with me again.”

“So you are leaving?” Feredir wondered.

Orthorien stopped what he was doing to look his brother in the eyes. “I had hoped to spend some time here in Ithilien, but suddenly the city does not seem big enough for the two of us,” he said, referring to Irneth. “I think it is best that I took my leave.”

Feredir knew his brother well. He knew once Orthorien set his mind to something, he would not deter from his objectives. In this way, Feredir and Orthorien were very much alike. Begging and pleading would do nothing to change the gilded warrior’s mind.

“I was looking forward to your visit, dear brother, but if you must go, I shall not stand in your way. I thank you again for this magnificent creature. Belroch and I seem to be making wonderful progress.”

Orthorien smiled genuinely and bowed his head. “You are more than welcome, Feredir.”

Just then, Horphen entered the stables and approached Feredir and Orthorien. He gave a nod to Orthorien, still not sure how to behave around the elf he considered a friend, but also the one who broke his sister’s heart. The slight bow of his head seemed enough, and words would have been too much to give at this point. Horphen decided it was best to give his attention to Feredir instead, since he was the reason for the visit to the stables. “I’ve done a bit of research like you asked,” he said secretively. “You’ll not find anything here in the city.”

Orthorien pretended not to hear, but his ears were trained on Horphen. Feredir stopped what he was doing and faced his friend. “If not here, then where?”

“You’ll have to go to Minas Tirith. Their records go back centuries or more, the oldest and most complete collection of history lies beneath the city in the catacombs.”

“Aye,” Orthorien butted in, unable to keep to himself any longer. “What are you looking for?”

“Oh, it’s probably nothing, but worth a bit of investigating. It’s nothing Horphen and I cannot handle,” Feredir said, as an idea sprang into his head. He turned to his friend. “Orthorien was just getting prepared to set out for Eryn Lasgalen.”

“Already?” Horphen said with surprise, though a bit of relief seeped through in his tone.

“Yes,” Orthorien answered and set to preparing the bags once more.

Feredir went on with his conversation. “Gondor you say.”

“Afraid so, and it’ll be you who convinces the commander to allow us leave.” Horphen patted Feredir roughly on the back.

Orthorien glanced over his shoulder, curiosity getting the best of him. “If you don’t mind, what are you researching that can only be found within the history books of Minas Tirith?”

It had been a long time since the three elves set out on an adventure together. Feredir gave Horphen a twitch of his eyebrow, and Horphen understood his meaning. Lifelong friends tended to be very much in tune with each other, and Feredir and Horphen were no exception. The friends turned to Orthorien, each one taking a spot at his side. Feredir started. “During a campaign at the borders, we captured a small group of Southrons. They were interrogated and divulged a bit of information that we feel we need to look further into.”

“Turns out they were not soldiers, but rather enslaved recruits,” Horphen continued. “They admitted to strange things happening in Harad, and said that a new enemy was slowly coming to power, using the Southron clan chieftains to do their dirty work.”

Feredir shifted from one foot to the other, moving closer to his brother. “They said that this new power searches for the Brethren of Soothsayers.”

Orthorien listened carefully, but he shook his head. “Perhaps it was a diversionary tactic. I’ve never heard of this before. Who are they, and what do they do?”

“We don’t know,” Horphen went on. “When we asked the Southrons about it, they only said to look into the past to find the answers. I went to Ithilien’s library, and they could not help me. Then they told me my best bet was Gondor or perhaps Rivendell. Obviously, Gondor is much closer, and we know that they house some of the oldest records known to Middle-earth. So that is where we will start.”

“You know,” Feredir said, wrapping an arm around Orthorien’s shoulder. “We could use another pair of eyes.”

“And since it seems you are not comfortable staying here in Ithilien, perhaps you’ll want to go to Gondor instead,” Horphen added, backing up Feredir’s motives.

“It has been many long years since I’ve been to the White City,” Orthorien considered, drawing a finger along the leather strap of his saddlebag. 

“What say you?” Feredir asked. “Another adventure?”

“How soon do we leave?” Orthorien smiled cleverly.

* * *

“You’re leaving for Minas Tirith?” Terrwyn said, toweling Norion’s wet head after finishing his bath. It was a perfect time for Feredir to drop this new plan onto her lap. There was not much she could do argument-wise with their son between them.

Feredir got down on his knees, taking the towel from Terrwyn, and finished by wrapping it around his son. He smiled, the pure joy reaching the corners of his brilliantly silver eyes.

“You’ll watch out for your Nana, now won’t you, iôn nín?”

Norion was proud to be set upon his first task. “I will, Ada,” he smiled, matching his father’s.

“And who will watch out for you?” Terrwyn questioned.

Feredir rubbed a hand through his thick black mane. “Horphen and my brother are going.”

“Well, I could have guessed that Horphen would go, but I thought Orthorien was leaving for Eryn Lasgalen.” She reached for Norion’s nightgown, and her son raised his arms above his head. The material floated down effortlessly, hands appearing through arm holes and head popping thorough neckline. They went through the movements like a well-rehearsed act. When they were done, Feredir kissed the child’s forehead.

“Run along now. To bed with you. Your mother and I will be along in a moment.”

Feredir watched Norion skip down the hallway, and disappear into his room. Then he turned to his wife, whose expression had turned dangerous. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her tight against him.

“That look might work on your patients, Naru, but for me it only fuels my desires.” His hand came up and he slipped a finger along the neckline of her dress, carefully teasing the soft curves of her breasts.

Unable to resist him since the first time he ever touched her, Terrwyn’s face softened as she gave in to his ministrations. “You’ll be away for quite some time. It’s been a while since we’ve been apart, not since you took the position of Captain of the Guard.”

“I’m only going to Gondor, not off to war.” He bent and kissed the side of her exposed neck.

“I guess that is some consolation,” she said sadly.

He wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her hair, “I can remember a time when you couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”

Terrwyn lifted her head and looked longingly into his eyes. “That was a long time ago, and you were a completely different elf then.”

“Was I?” he said, one dark brow raised teasingly.

“You were arrogant, self-centered, annoyingly proud and–”

“And yet, here you are,” he interrupted in the midst of her complaint. A firm yet seductive kiss kept her from finishing her thoughts.

“Just be careful,” she pleaded.

Feredir nodded, took her hand, and led her down the hall to tuck their son in for the night.

* * *

It was a week later, and a few days since Feredir and the others had set out for Minas Tirith. Terrwyn was at the healing house, supposedly watching her new pupil, Tharon, as he measured a concoction of herbs. But her mind was not on teaching at the moment.

“Is everything alright, Mistress?” Tharon asked when she’d not answered his question about a certain measurement.

Terrwyn shook herself from her thoughts and smiled. “I’m sorry, Tharon. Now what were you saying?”

“I was just wondering if I used enough mountain daisy,” Tharon replied, and noted her confusion. “But you weren’t watching so–”

Terrwyn shook her head. “Perhaps now is not the best time for a lesson. There is a mountain of soiled rags to be sterilized in the back room. Why don’t you set a pot to heating, and I’ll be along to help you in a bit.”

Tharon bowed. “Yes, Mistress.”

Terrwyn inwardly cringed at the title, but Tharon had not yet become comfortable enough calling her by name, no matter how many times she corrected him. That’s why she was surprised when he turned to her and called her by such.

“Pardon me if I speak too openly, Terrwyn, but is there something that bothers you? You seem very distant these past few days.”

“All is well,” she said smiling at his concern. “Missing my husband is all. We haven’t been apart for quite a few years. I guess I’ve just gotten used to him being here.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, Mistress, but I’m glad that is all it is. I was worried, you know, with Master Curuven and Limil gone to the Havens. Things have been rather quiet around here.”

“Yes, it has, but quiet is good in our line of business, though one should never be unprepared. Things can go from calm to chaos in the flick of a wing. But there is no reason to put yourself at worry. With you, me and Rhawen, we’ll handle any situation that comes along.”

Tharon smiled, feeling a bit more important and useful in the healing house. So much so that he seemed to forget his duties. “Better get that water to boiling,” she reminded him, and Tharon disappeared into the back room.

The door that led in from the waiting room opened, and a familiar face peeked inside. He saw Terrwyn and entered.

“Halion, why, this is a surprise, or should I grab my needle and sutures.” She was only partly jesting. There hadn’t been any word of fighting, but that did not mean people did not get hurt.

Halion had been to the Healing House a while back, on the day the Southron prisoners were brought in, and Terrwyn had to end a brawl that broke out in her waiting area. He’d been cut with a dirty blade, his first battle wound, and Terrwyn had seen to his injury.

Halion bowed respectfully, but when he stood his eyes scanned the room. “I am fine, Mistress Terrwyn.”

“And how has that laceration healed?” she asked.

Halion shrugged his coat from his shoulder and showed her the scar. He smiled proudly. “It is a beauty, for sure.”

“What can I do you for, Halion?” Terrwyn wondered.

He looked around the room again, his sight falling on the door that led to the back room. When they focused on Terrwyn, she could see a blush of pink tinge his pointed ears. “Actually, I’ve come to see Rhawen.”

Confused, Terrwyn knitted her brows. “Well, I don’t think she is supposed to come in until later today. Is there something I can do instead?”

“She told me to meet her here. Perhaps I am a little early. I was in a bit of a rush. I’m afraid patience is my downfall.”

Terrwyn was about to continue her questioning when the same door Halion entered through opened. Rhawen came in and seemed startled to see Halion talking with Terrwyn. She instantly hid her shock with a wide smile and went to Halion, looping her arm around his and tugging him towards the door. “There you are,” she said cheerfully, and then leaned towards his ear. “I thought I told you to meet me outside the Healing House.”

“When I arrived, you were not here, and I waited a while, but you did not show. I thought perhaps I had misunderstood, so I came inside looking for you.” His eyes scanned her from head to toe as he finished speaking, and a look of infatuation crossed his face. “Are you ready to go?” he said almost dreamily.

Rhawen, not quite as dreamily, pulled him away from Terrwyn. “Yes … yes, I’m ready. Let’s be on our way then.” She looked back over his shoulder while rushing for the door. “I’ll be in at my usual time, Terrwyn.”

Rhawen almost had Halion out the door, but Terrwyn called to her and she cringed.

“Rhawen, a moment please … before you go … if you don’t mind?”

Rhawen patted Halion’s arm as she released her grip on him. “Go on up to the front. I’ll be along in a minute.”

“Good day, Mistress Terrwyn,” Halion bowed, barely getting out the door before Rhawen pushed him and shut it tight.

“Yes, Terrwyn?” she said, putting on her best and least conspicuous smile.

Terrwyn looked past Rhawen, and then her eyes settled on her assistant. “Halion?” she asked. There was no need to say anything further.

“It’s only lunch and a stroll through the gardens,” Rhawen said defensively.

“And what would Horphen think of this young, handsome, and obviously enamored soldier taking you out for lunch and a stroll?”

Rhawen raised her nose pugnaciously. “I don’t think he would even notice, since his eyes seem to wander as much as he feet, and never to my own door.”

“What happened?” Terrwyn asked, concerned for her assistant and friend. “I thought he was coming around. You invited him into your home and–”

“And he did not show,” Rhawen interrupted. “I’d made a lovely dinner and all, and not even a note of apology came.”

“Perhaps something happened and he was called to duty. He is, after all, a Captain in the army. Sometimes it cannot be helped,” Terrwyn tried to justify.

“I’m no fool. I know it takes but a second to send word. But that is not the whole reason I’m angry at him. When I saw him the next day, he behaved like nothing had happened … just picked up where we left off. Does he not know how much time I put into making that evening special? And then he acts like it was nothing at all, no remorse … nothing. Well, I will not be treated like all the other ellith that come around, flaunting themselves just to make him notice them. He might be able to sweet talk himself back into their good graces, but I haven’t the time or the energy to waste.” Rhawen huffed a frustrated breath and straightened her tunic. Today, she’d worn leggings and boots, hoping that she and Halion might have a bit more strenuous hike, rather than a walk in the gardens. Though she liked Halion platonically, she knew he was a little more enamored, and she knew that hiking through high cliffs and rocky terrain would keep his eyes and his thoughts too busy to focus completely on her.

“I better go,” she finally said, turning for the door. “Halion will think I’m not coming.”

“Enjoy your walk,” Terrwyn called to her, though she looked on with sympathy.

Rhawen noticed and gave a sad smile. “It’s a shame really. I’m rather fond of Horphen. I always have been. I’ve seen his tender and caring side.”

“So have I, and I think he will come around eventually, once he realizes there is nothing wrong with being that part of himself,” Terrwyn said.

“I’m not sure I’m willing to wait that long,” Rhawen said sadly, and she closed the door behind her.

* * *

Feredir, Horphen and Orthorien had arrived at Minas Tirith, found accommodations, and were now sitting in one of the many taverns of the second level. Horphen looked over to the bar and laughed to himself. Feredir heard him and glanced over his shoulder.

“What is so amusing?” he asked his friend.

“Remember the days when we would visit the Hollowed Leg?” Horphen asked, a distant look on his face.

“We still visit there,” Feredir said.

“No, I mean in years past, when we were young border guards without a care and barely any coin.”

“Ah, those days,” Feredir smiled, closing his eyes as he reminisced. “And we knew where the very best stock was kept.”

“Beneath the bar. Second self from the bottom,” Horphen and Feredir said in unison. They laughed.

“And Feona would fetch the bottle of the house best,” Horphen added. “She was very good at fetching.”

“There was a reason she kept it there. Only those who could afford it were worthy of her extraordinary fetching skills.” Feredir leaned back in his chair, relaxed in the taverns atmosphere.

“You were one of the lucky few that got to see more than her cleavage as she bent down to retrieve the bottle,” Horphen said jovially. “But then, you always had a way with the women.”

“They were good days,” Feredir smiled. “But I’d not trade them for the life I have now.”

“That’s alright, my friend. Orthorien and I will keep up the traditions, won’t we?” Horphen said, roughly patting Orthorien on the shoulder.

Orthorien looked to the bar, seeing not a beautifully endowed wine wench, but an overweight man with a scruffy beard, and a wrinkled cap sitting askew upon his balding head. “Unfortunately, we’ll find no such entertainment here. Who picked this place anyways? There is a tavern between every few storefronts, and we end up at this one,” he complained.

“I didn’t think either of you were looking for a certain type of entertainment,” Feredir said, emphasizing the last word. “After all, aren’t both of you supposed to be spoken for?”

“Orthorien perhaps, but not me,” Horphen said as he defended himself.

“Your sister stuck me with my own arrow,” Orthorien said dryly. He picked up his mug and drank long, finishing the bitter ale and setting the cup back down before continuing. “I think that is more than enough reason for estrangement.”

“What about you?” Feredir asked, directing his comment to Horphen. “Terrwyn told me you were finally becoming serious about Rhawen. Like your sister, she is not one to lead on falsely.” Feredir shot a reprimanding look at his brother, but Orthorien ignored him.

“I’ve made no commitment. I only agreed to dinner, but duty delayed me. Now she’s not speaking to me.”

“Surely a note should have sufficed,” Orthorien commented.

Horphen was sipping his ale, and stopped to answer matter-of-factly. “I didn’t send one.”

“You didn’t send a note?” Feredir said, leaning forward in his chair.

Orthorien laughed quietly. “Only a fool does not send a message. No wonder she is not speaking to you.”

Horphen took offence to Orthorien’s statement. “I did not abandon her altogether. I saw her the next day.”

“And she did not accept your apology?” Feredir wondered.

“Apologize for what? I was called to duty, and it is my job to make sure that Ithilien is protected. Certainly she knows that.”

“Oh, my friend, you have a lot to learn about the opposite sex,” Feredir said.

“Such as … always send a note,” Orthorien added.

“Ha! As though I should listen to either one of you. Feredir took so long to tell Terrwyn his true feelings that their relationship almost didn’t happen. And Orthorien, who … by the way … has been with more elves than I can count years I’ve been alive … both sexes mind you … finally chooses the one elf in all of Middle-earth who has despised him for the same amount of said years. And how did that go for you? Oh yes, she shot you in the leg.” Horphen, agitated, picked up his mug and drank the rest of his dregs before continuing. “I’ll do fine on my own, thank you. And when I get back to Ithilien, I’ll clear up this small matter with Rhawen, and all will be forgotten.”

“She may have forgotten sooner than you thought,” Orthorien mumbled into his fresh mug.

“And just what do you mean by that?” Horphen asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Well, I’m sure it is nothing … since you clearly have a handle on the situation … but I heard that the young soldier, Halion is planning to ask to see her.”

“Halion?” Horphen took a moment to scan his memories. “The first year who I sent to the Healing House with that small flesh wound?” He chuckled, though it sounded forced. “Surely Rhawen would not entertain the thought. He’s barely past his majority, and a bit clumsy at that.”

“Word is, she accepted and they made plans to share a meal,” Orthorien said, not feeling a bit regretful for being the one to deliver the news. If he was going to be miserable, at least he’d have someone to wallow in it with him.

“And just how did you come by this false information?” Horphen challenged.

“You forget that I was laid up in the Healing House for almost a week. It’s amazing the things people say when they think a patient is sleeping.”

Horphen’s face fell and he stared into his empty mug. “But she wouldn’t.”

“And she wasn’t going to until you did not show.” Orthorien watched Horphen’s shoulders slump as he leaned forward, elbows on the table, and looking quite forlorn. He gave Horphen a hard slap on the back. “Ai well, there’s plenty more out there, isn’t there. Perhaps you’ll pay a visit to the Hollowed Leg when we return, and ask for the house best.” He gave Horphen an exaggerated wink.

“I’m afraid the house best has been shelved, permanently,” Feredir said. “Feona is taken, for good this time … I think.”

“What?” Orthorien said surprised. “But she was such a … a free spirit.”

Feredir was not the only one to find himself within Feona’s personal quarters. After Feredir proclaimed his love for Terrwyn, Orthorien met and seduced the buxom beauty for a multi night affair, much to Feredir’s dislike at the time. Even now, he scowled at his brother. “Found herself a gentleman, I hear, a Gondorian.”

“Lucky bastard,” Orthorien muttered.

Horphen and Orthorien were no longer in much of a drinking mood, and Feredir could see this for himself. He felt bad for his friend and his brother. No matter what they said, no matter what they thought, they still had a lot to learn about women. Feredir himself was still learning, and he somehow knew he would never know enough, but at least he was confident that he and Terrwyn loved, trusted and respected each other.

“Drink up you two. We have a busy day ahead of us, and it won’t be much fun digging through old documents,” Feredir advised.

The others obeyed, and soon they were off to their guest quarters to rest for the evening.

* * *

One busy day turned into many as the three elves combed through books, documents, records, and anything else they could get their hands on, but nowhere could they find any information or even the mention of an organization known as the Brethren of Soothsayers.

“I’m beginning to think there is no such thing,” Feredir stated as he opened yet another old history book.

“Perhaps we are not looking deep enough,” Orthorien said. “We’ve only gone back as far as the beginning of the Third Age.”

“What do you suppose this secret society did?” Horphen asked as he continued to scan the book he had in front of him.

“Well,” Orthorien laughed, “They must have been some kind of fortune tellers.”

“That much is obvious, but what do you suppose their reason was for forming their assemblage?” Horphen stopped to ward off a plume of dust that rose from the book he’d just closed.

“Let’s look at all of the elves we know to have the gift of foresight. Galadriel comes to mind first, and Lord Elrond and Arwen were all empowered with it.” Feredir said.

“And looking even further back,” Horphen mentioned, “there was Amnon, Glirhuin and Malbeth … all famous seers.”

“Their prophesies came true, but not much else is known. There’s no mention of them associated with any Brethren,” Orthorien said.

“There wouldn’t be,” Feredir said from across the room. “This group of seers has seemed to escape the history books for a reason. They must not be well known, if known at all. But what puzzles me is why Jubayr knows about them, a poor Southron farmer.”

“You said he told you and Glandur about a new power rising, and that once this Brethren is discovered, he will be unstoppable.” Horphen left the book he’d been skimming through to stand next to Feredir. “I think we are looking in the wrong place by researching well known seers. We need to look at this from a different angle.”

“So how do we look for something that has no evidence of existing?” Horphen wondered aloud.

“We look for commonalities,” Feredir said as an idea formed.

“There could be different similarities, their predictions for example. Some foresaw war, some saw an individual’s death, a birth, taking up a crown,” Horphen explained.

“Some used objects, some were struck with a vision in the light of day, and some saw things only in their dreams,” Orthorien added.

Feredir seemed frustrated and slammed shut his book. “There are too many avenues to investigate. How do we narrow down our search?”

“We must think of this Brethren,” Orthorien said. “Someone obviously wants to use these members to gain power, but how does one go about it? You cannot force a seer to make a prediction.”

“Then it must have something to do with their power, although there is no way to extract it from them. So how would you use a seer’s powers?” Horphen asked.

“If they are the type to use an object to foretell, then there would be something of material use. You cannot force a soothsayer to see, but perhaps you could confiscate the source of his power.” Feredir’s confidence was beginning to take hold once more. He looked to Orthorien. “What kind of objects have been noted?”

“Galadriel’s mirror for one, and then there were journals in which some seers used, stating that their visions would leap onto the pages as if by magic,” answered his brother.

“The Seeing Stones come to mind as maybe the oldest, if not the first of its kind,” Horphen said.

Both Orthorien and Feredir looked at Horphen, but it was Feredir that spoke. “The Palantír. How many were there?”

“I believe there were eight mentioned throughout history, but one by one they vanished or were lost, never to be seen again,” Horphen said.

Orthorien regarded Feredir curiously. “Are you saying that you think this new threat is searching for the Palantíri?”

“That would be folly,” Horphen put in. “Most have disappeared without a trace, and if there are any still about, their sister stones have surely vanished. They must at least work in pairs. Individually, they are useless.”

Feredir rubbed his chin while he was in deep thought. “Let’s look back even further to their forging.”

“That would have been Fëanor. He created the Simarils, and in turn forged the Seeing Stones,” Orthorien said.

Just then, light filtered into the room, coming from the main door as it slowly opened. The three elves abandoned their discussion to see who it was. In walked an old man, hunched over, fingers plagued with knots that left them deformed. He had long white hair, though it was thinning. He wore a tattered old robe and dirty brown slippers, which shuffled along the ancient floor. In one hand he held his cane, seemingly carved from a gnarled branch. In the other, he held a lantern so that he could see where he was going. Feredir thought that the old man must be blind, or almost, to have to use the lantern when there were already candles lit about the room.

The elves watched quietly as the man slowly made his way into the room, past the endless stacks of old dusty books. He walked right by Orthorien without noticing the rather tall and muscular blond elf. Orthorien watched him pass by, and then looked at Horphen, who stood in the neighboring aisle. Horphen shrugged, unsure what to do. It wasn’t until the old man came to Feredir that anyone spoke.

“Good day my fine sir,” Feredir announced when the man was in front of him.

The elderly gentleman stopped in his tracks and yelped at the sudden shock of finding that he was not alone.

“Béma’s ballocks!” he exclaimed as his eyes grew wide at the sight of the black haired elf. “You’re real.”

Feredir knitted his brows. “Quite real.”

The old man looked up and up, stretching his crooked form as best he could until he looked up at Feredir’s face. “Why, you’re an elf, and a mighty tall one at that.” Then he laughed as he recovered from his sudden surprise. “I thought you were just another statue. There are so many of ‘em down here, and they’re scattered all around the place. Imagine my astonishment to discover that they could suddenly talk.”

Feredir smiled at the friendly old soul. “I am by no means a statue, I assure you, and neither are they,” he said gesturing to the other elves.

The old man pivoted on his unsteady feet, and found himself in the company of three elves. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “There are more of ye. Must be me lucky day. And what are three fine specimen such as yourselves doing down in this musty, dusty ol’ place? Surely, ye prefer the sunlight to this damp dungeon.”

“Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Feredir and this is Orthorien and Horphen. We’ve come from Ithilien in search of some records of past events.”

“Aye, well, if it’s history ye’re looking for, then ye’ve come to the right place. Any luck finding it?” the old man asked.

“We’ve found plenty, though I’m not sure any of it is much help at this point,” Horphen said as he came around the end of the aisle and joined the others. “It’s been rather like a scavenger hunt.”

“What might ye be a huntin’ for? Maybe I can be of some help,” the old man said enthusiastically.

The three elves looked at each other, speaking silently between them with their gestures. They were agreeing whether or not the old man needed to know the matter of their errand. Feredir made the decision, since he felt he was responsible for their visit.

“You see, we are looking for something on a specific group that we have never heard of until recently. You seem like a scholarly fellow, perhaps you’re familiar with the Brethren of Soothsayers?” Feredir asked.

The old man let the name roll off his tongue several times before it seemed he recognized the name. “Ah, yes, I have heard the name before,” he said, proud that he’d remembered.

“Can you tell us anything about them? Anything at all?” Orthorien asked.

The old man shuffled his feet and bent his head, “Well now, there ye have me. I know nothing at all about it.”

“But you have heard of it,” Horphen said.

“Aye, I have … recently, but not before.”

It was not the answer they hoped for, but the elves felt they still might be on to something. Feredir pulled a stool over and took a seat so that he was level with the old man. “Might I ask where you heard of this brethren before?”

“Well,” the old man started, his fingers pinching his chin and his brows drawing together to make a deep runnel between his eyes. “Seems as though you three are not the only ones looking for it. Just a few months past, another one was here searching for the same thing. I’d told ‘im the same thing I’ve told you, only then, I really hadn’t heard of this brethren before. It’s only because of this stranger that the name sounded familiar.”

Feredir glanced up at his brother, a look of concern adorning his face. It could be very important information to find out who this person was and whether he was a Southron or not. “This stranger … do you know where he was from?”

“I’m afraid ye’ve got me there. I couldn’t say where he’d been comin’ from, but he definitely wasn’t from Gondor. Handsome young buck, though. He was fair skinned like the elves, had straight black hair all slicked back neat like, but he was built different. He’d not the warrior’s physique like you three hearty lads. Quite lithe, in my opinion, but he seemed to carry his strength inwardly, if that makes much sense.”

Feredir looked to Orthorien and Horphen, but neither one seemed to recognize the description of the stranger. “So you say he was trying to find out about the same thing. Do you know if he found it or not?”

“That I surely wouldn’t. I’d just come down to retrieve some documents for one of the council members when I ran into this gentleman, for that’s what he was. Bowed to me fancy like and all, made me a little uncomfortable, since not many people pay me any mind,” the old man explained. “But he’d asked me the same thing about this Brethren of Soothsayers. He’d also asked me where to find the history of them seein’ stones.”

The same sense of urgency hit all three elves. They had been on the right path by researching the stones. So had this stranger, for that matter.

“What did he want to know about the Palantír?” Orthorien asked.

“Well,” the old man said, pausing again to remember. It had been three months ago, and it hadn’t been very important at the time. Suddenly, his grey brows shot up and he smiled as he remembered. “Ah, yes, he asked about their forging, who it was, how many there were and the like.”

“How many? How many what?” Feredir wondered.

“Why, those involved in the forging of the stones, of course.”

“But it is common knowledge that it was Fëanor. No one would need to investigate the history books to find that out, and there aren’t many who do not know this to begin with,” Horphen said.

“Ye’re only partly right,” the old man corrected.

It was obvious that the three elves did not believe this at first, and the old man laughed. “It’s always fun to know I can still teach something, especially to the elves, who seem to know everything from the moment they’re born.”

“Then there were others?” Orthorien asked.

The old man nodded. “There is no account as to who or how many, but Fëanor was not the only one.” He turned from the elves and went to a certain table full of tattered papers and dusty books. One book in particular had recently been cleaned, and a fresh layer of dust had just settled on it. It was this book that the old man retrieved and brought to a reading table near the elves. He opened it and flipped through the pages until he came to a certain passage.

“See, right here.” He pointed to the ancient entry. “Pengolodh was an old Noldorin lore master, and he mentions the stones in his writing, but this is what I find curious.”

In the entry, Pengolodh had been speaking of war and such, but it was what he’d written that suggested that Fëanor was not the only jewel smith able to create a Palantíri. Feredir read aloud, “Not even the Seeing Stones of the craftsmen of old could wholly unite those that were sundered, and they and the masters that could make them were few.” He looked up from the book to his fellow elf companions. “They and their masters were few,” he repeated.

“It’s a common mistake,” the old man said. “It’s seen time and time again. There’s always one who gets remembered, one who gets credit for something that took many to accomplish. It’s usually the most memorable one of the lot, and there’s no denying that Fëanor was memorable. All the other poor soul’s hard work and involvement gets forgotten about.”

“Is it written anywhere who these other jewel smiths were?” Feredir asked anxiously. If there was a Brethren of Soothsayers, it could very well be these original masters that Pengolodh referred to, mysteriously leaving out any mention of their names.

“If there is, you’d be the first to find it. Not even that other fella could find anything, and he was none too happy about it, especially after bein’ down here for three days straight.”

They seemed to be at the end of their search for the moment. The old man had shared all he knew of the stone’s creators, as well as anything about this stranger. Feredir smiled kindly and took the old man’s hand. “Thank you … uh–”

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that. I’m not as sharp as I used to be. I’ve not introduced myself. The name’s Arthmael.”

“Thank you Arthmael. You’ve been very helpful,” Orthorien said, laying a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder.

“It was my pleasure. Don’t get to see the elves very often myself. Always a treat though. Always a treat,” Arthmael said smiling with a tooth gaping grin.

It wasn’t much to go on, but at least it was something, and the news of a stranger searching for the same thing was a surprise and quite mysterious. Apparently they were not the only ones, but who else might be looking for the names of the Brethren?

Feredir, Orthorien and Horphen decided to stay a while longer in Gondor. They would redirect their search from the catacombs to the appearance of the stranger. Arthmael had given them a good description, so they decided to visit different locations around Minas Tirith, and see who else might have seen this newcomer.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please review. I'm back from a long hiatus and look forward to hearing from my readers. Thanks.


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